


Righting a Wrong

by fckyeahgallavich



Series: Aevitas [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Mickey Milkovich, Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Fluff, Gallavich, M/M, Smut, Top Ian Gallagher, canon is dead, fanfiction lives on, my shameless season 8, shameless season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2018-12-29 23:04:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12095385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckyeahgallavich/pseuds/fckyeahgallavich
Summary: Let's say canon dies after Mickey goes to Mexico. We all know that Mickey and Ian can not stay apart for long, so how will they reunite? And how will they deal with the baggage Mickey's escape brings with him?Basically: What I think should happen in season 8 and beyond.





	1. Nuntium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has Ian done with his life over the past few months? Everything is dragging by in slow motion. Suddenly, he feels a sense of purpose when there is a little news on Mickey...

The four months after Ian returned home from the border was rough. First because he had to wrestle with how stupid he felt for leaving Mickey at the border, and then because he had to face the judgement of his family (and Trevor) for running after his fugitive lover; but worst of all was wrestling with the temptation to go back, reminding himself over and over of the reason he didn’t end up going.

 

It was true what he’d said, that the kind of life they would lead together was definitely not for him anymore… But hadn’t he known when setting out that life on the run with a fugitive would be hard? Hadn’t he known that this shit would be dangerous? For some reason it had just hit him in that moment right before crossing the finish line that if he went with Mickey, and even if it took a number of years, he’d end up resenting going away to a life on the run. And who would want that?

 

As much as it killed him, he’d rather the love of his life be in his memory free (emotionally hurt, but free) rather than end up leaving him by the end of ten years resenting any life they would have made together. Even if it would be good for a while.

 

When he’d returned home, Fiona and Lip had given him hell. First and foremost for lying to them, but also for almost throwing everything he’d built for himself on an “old fling.” Ian had bit his tongue hard for that one. Mickey was way more than a fling. And the life he had built for himself wasn't due to Mickey's absence and in fact, Ian could even admit Mickey sort of kick-started it in a way. Mickey had insisted he take his meds and even though he resented it at the time, now he was grateful. How either of his siblings could say that after all they’d seen Mickey endure for Ian’s sake… Ian would never understand their dislike of Mickey. And of course they tried to paint Ian’s trip with Mickey as Mickey manipulating him, which Ian finally spoke up for.

 

“Look. I wasn’t manipulated, he didn’t kidnap me, it was my decision to leave, it was my decision to come back.” Ian had argued. The conversation had taken place in the kitchen over some tense morning coffee. Ian was seriously considering grabbing a beer, but he had to work later.

 

“Ian… He came back after escaping prison and gave you an offer to run away with him. You don’t consider that manipulation?” Fiona reasoned.

 

“No. I don’t! He escaped because he didn’t want to spend 8 years of his life locked up for a family that doesn’t give a shit about him! He came to me to tell me where he was going and to ask if I wanted to go with him. That was it.”

 

“And you think inviting you out to fuck first wasn’t him trying to sweeten you up?” Ian glowered at Lip who had thrown this out. They had already discussed this and Lip even made a point to ask how the sex was... As good as the sex _had_ been it certainly wasn't enough for him to leave alone. He had left because he genuinely wanted to be with Mickey to whatever end.

 

Then shit got scary, and Ian ran... Like a fucking coward.

 

“Considering he thought it was a goodbye fuck, no.”

 

“Really? He genuinely thought that?” Lip challenged.

 

“Yeah. He fucking did. God, you’re such an asshole!” Ian bit out, standing up from the table a little more violently than necessary. And it wasn't as though Lip hadn't done the exact same thing with Mandy when he was trying to “convince” her to stay. So where was Lip's right to judge?

 

Ian rolled his eyes at the thought as he was about to pass through the archway into the living room.

 

“Well then you need to get your meds checked.” Fiona called after him. Ian froze. The fuck did she say? The air was tense and no one moved. Ian finally turned around after counting to ten.

 

“Excuse me?” He growled deeply. Fiona turned in her chair defiantly.

 

“If he didn’t manipulate you into it, then maybe you had another manic episode. That isn’t you, Ian. You have a plan, you think shit through. You don’t go chasing bad ideas!”

 

“Was I manic when I followed Lip into a government lab to steal that fucking laser? Was I manic when I broke into the Milkovich house with Lip to plant a gun on Terry?” Fiona and Lip both shrank back. “Do you have a mental illness to blame your stupid shit on? Like drinking like a fish and getting expelled for bashing in windshields or leaving coke out on a counter for a four year old to get into?” Ian demanded. Fiona and Lip both glared at him indignantly.

 

“Fuck you, Ian!” Lip snapped.

 

“That’s not fair!” Fiona cried.

 

“No! It’s perfectly fair. You guys make bad decisions, you don’t have a mental illness to blame it on, well guess what? I do and I still don’t blame shit on it, I own my shit! Stop trying to make everything about my bipolar! The meds are under control and I went with Mickey fully knowing the danger involved, and backed out because I just knew shit was going to hit the fan with us down the road that would make me resent what we have. And now I’m going to have to live with abandoning who is probably the love of my life again for the rest of my goddamned life because I wanted it to work so fucking bad I got both of our hopes up!” Ian was breathing really heavy. Fiona and Lip were thoroughly silenced. “And that can’t be blamed on my bipolar. I thought that shit through and thought it would be the choice that would make me happy. And it probably would have… but the question was for how long. That’s why I’m back. Now kindly back the fuck off about meds, about Mickey, about… everything. Okay, just… Leave me alone.” Fiona and Lip stared at him in stunned silence as he slowed his breathing, feeling tears prick the back of his eyes as the words he just released settled in his own mind.

 

The love of his life… Yeah. There was no getting around that anymore…

 

Ian turned away from his siblings and hopped up the stairs two at a time.

 

/////

 

Fiona and Lip tread carefully around Ian for the next couple of weeks. They were definitely done with bringing anything Mickey related up, but they still wanted to give Ian his space until he started opening up again. If he was really ever “open” to begin with… And Ian was glad to be left alone.

 

Trevor had ended their relationship at about the same time, and now four months later Ian had convinced him to let them try to be friends. The friendship took a long time to build, but during those months between the border and now, they were pretty solid, and solidly platonic at that.

 

Actually, Trevor was with Ian the night the chase was called off on Mickey. They were at a bar one night, just having dinner, when Ian looked up from his beer at one of the many TVs behind the bar on mute. He saw the name “Milkovich” in the closed captions and stood up immediately, transfixed, effectively cutting Trevor off from whatever he had been saying.

 

“Dude? You okay?” Trevor asked, watching Ian watch the TV. Ian didn’t hear him, keeping his eyes on the screen. He had missed whatever the news anchor had said about Mickey but on the scrolling headlines beneath her he kept seeing “Police called off in search for missing fugitive Mikhailo “Mickey” Milkovich.” Trevor turned around to see what Ian was staring at. When the proper headline scrolled by again, Trevor huffed.

 

“Oh shit.”

 

Ian sat back down. The search is called off… He was never found. Ian all at once felt excited, and anxious. Because he was never found, did that mean he was having the time of his life in Mexico, or did it mean he got himself involved in some crazy shit trying to make a buck and got himself killed? Was he still laying low or was this a ploy by the media and police to try to get him to come out of hiding? Would it work? Would he come back? Could he come back?

 

“Ian?” Trevor called over Ian’s roaring thoughts. “Earth to Ian!” Ian finally broke his connection with the TV, there was nothing new being added anyway, and turned to Trevor.

 

“I’m sorry–”

 

“No, I get it. But I also see what your thinking. Don’t even think about it.” Ian felt the hurt cross his face. “He’s not coming back, Ian. And even if he did, it’d be a stupid move.” Ian sat back in his seat, taking a pull from his beer, nodding in agreement. “I don’t really like the sound of the guy, and maybe I’m a bit biased… But I think you need to stay away from all of that shit. You know, like you said you were going to the first time.” Ian’s eyes flashed back up to Trevor. The bitterness was so evident in Trevor’s voice, Ian felt a pang of guilt. As clear as it was to both of them that their relationship was never going to work, Trevor did actually like Ian a lot, that much was clear. And while Trevor said he was good with being just friends, there were times that he couldn’t hide how he actually felt for the redhead. Ian looked to his fingers on the table, moving them in little patterns against the grain of well-worn wood.

 

“Ian?” Trevor prompted. Ian sighed.

 

“I know. Alright?” He made eye contact with Trevor, trying to show him how much this killed him. It really fucking killed him. “I won’t try to find him, I won’t try to call him. I just…” His gaze returned to the TV again, but his heart sank when he realized they'd moved on, “hope he’s alright.” Trevor kept the eye contact going as long as Ian would allow, which wasn’t for much longer. Trevor nodded.

 

“Yeah, I hope he’s okay, too.” Ian’s brow arched in surprise. “I may not like some of the things I’ve heard about the guy, but he must be something special to you if you’d leave me to go on a Mexican fantasy ride with him.” Ian leaned back with a smirk.

 

“Shit…” He laughed at Trevor’s quips. “Are you ever going to stop bringing that up?” Trevor laughed with him.

 

“As soon as you stop feeling sorry for yourself for leaving.” Trevor answered seriously. Ian’s laughs stopped dead. “Yeah. I see you moping everywhere. Just… Promise me you won’t go off on any more Mexican romps with this? You’re already at risk of a lot with the first time, you don’t need to go getting yourself in more potential trouble.” Ian sighed and nodded.

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Trevor shook his head, acknowledging that he knew Ian understood that, but just wanted to reiterate in case that little voice in his head suddenly died when Mickey was brought up.

 

/////

 

They finished their drinks and walked to Trevor’s house which was on the way to the Gallaghers' from where they were drinking.

 

“Alright, man. I’m going to call you tomorrow and you’re going to answer or text me back with a piss-poor excuse so I know you didn’t do anything stupid.” Ian shook his head, rolling his eyes heavenward.

 

“Alright, Mom.” Ian bit back. Trevor smiled and pat his friend on the shoulder.

 

Ian lit a cigarette and started walking. As he wandered back to the Gallagher house he just kept thinking about Mickey. How wonderful it would be to have him back, how it would have been great to be with him when the search was called off… to celebrate the search being called off together. They could have lived their lives together. And with the search called off they could have lived their lives in Mexico with moderate precaution. This was exactly what Ian had struggled with at the border. Weighing the risk of growing to resent Mickey, vs being caught, vs living a fantasy. The odds of being caught or growing to resent him seemed an awfully lot higher of chances compared to the chances of living a fantasy.

 

That was why he didn’t go through with it. And here he was, regretting it every single day, resenting himself.

 

He still went to work, still interacted with people, still took his meds, still went about his daily life; but it was only half-ass without Mickey there. And that was what Ian had struggled with for the year while Mickey was locked up. Knowing he could survive without Mickey, but not wanting to, and being so unbearably sad and lonely, just needing to fill the gap but not knowing quite how. Caleb had worked for a little while, but even before the cheating happened, he knew everything was only on the surface... but he was willing to go as long as he could for the sake of staving off loneliness.

 

Then with Trevor, he did actually like him, but it turned out to be more of a friendly, brotherly love. Unfortunately, Trevor hadn’t felt the same... But even while he was trying so hard to like him more, Mickey had always been in the back of his mind.

 

He finally made it home, plopping himself in front of the TV, hoping to catch the repeated news stories. He didn’t have to wait long before he turned the volume up just the teeniest bit. “After four months of searching for escaped inmate Mikhailo Aleksander Milkovich, the Chicago police are officially calling off the search.” Mickey’s mugshot pulled up on the screen. He remembered sitting in this spot the day he saw the story about Mickey’s court date. He couldn’t understand how Mickey had been charged and sentenced so quickly… There’s no way Mickey would have plead guilty because he knew there was no evidence… Well, it was all a bit late for that now. But he remembered seeing Mickey’s mugshot and feeling his stomach drop because the shot was not just Mickey’s usual hardass exterior. Ian could see that the usual glimmer in his eyes, or at least the glimmer he had adopted since coming out and living his life freely, had died out. And the tip of his nose was red. The world would think it was from cold or anger or resentment at the police for catching him… But Ian knew better. It was from him trying so hard not to cry.

 

Suddenly Ian’s ridiculous break up with him played in his mind and his stomach heaved when he remembered Mickey trying desperately not to cry at being broken up with.

 

“Milkovich’s partner in the escape, Damon Cardinez, was captured on day five in the search only revealing that their final destination was across the border into Mexico, but providing no details on the means by which they intended to cross the border or to where exactly they had planned to go. With nearly two weeks of no leads, police have finally decided to end the search. The case against Milkovich, however, is still open and anyone with information on the potential whereabouts are encouraged to call the number on your screen. Police will be keeping the case open. Milkovich comes from a long line of dangerous men from the Chicago area so do not approach anyone you suspect of being Mikhailo Milkovich. He may be extremely dangerous even when unarmed.” The news anchor finally broke her trance-like stare on the prompter and started talking like a normal human being. “Always a shame when something like this happens in our dear city, isn’t that right-” Ian turned the TV off at that. He sank back into the cushions, his breath heavy in his chest.

 

Damon didn’t turn him in… Probably a wise move because if Mickey ever caught word that Damon was the one who did it, he still had the connections in prison to fuck Damon’s world up. Ian just sat on the couch for a long time, staring at nothing. Subconsciously, he was pondering what to do next. He wanted to talk to him, wanted to go to him. But nothing had been resolved. Just because the police were no longer actively looking for him didn’t mean that he couldn’t still be caught a decade later. Ian pulled his pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket and was about to pull one out, but decided against it. He tossed them on the table with an audible *plop* and sat for another few minutes, staring at nothing. Ian’s mind kept trailing upstairs. He couldn’t help thinking about the little burn phone Mickey had got for him when he came back. He’d told Ian to drop the first phone in the sewer but never instructed him to get rid of the second one…

 

Would the number still work? Would the phone still work?

 

He stood up slowly and calmly made his way up to his room–Fiona’s old room, the slow and measured actions in direct contrast to his racing brain and heart. He checked the dresser, the bedside table, and finally under the bed. Then he finally remembered that he must have stored it deep under the mattress in between the mattress and boxspring. Praying the phone wasn’t crushed, Ian lifted the mattress and found the thin little burner phone, sitting right where he’d left it. When he had returned from Mexico, that had been one of the first things he had done after being told about Monica’s death. He had stored it there in the hopes that if the cops came knocking he would have enough time to retrieve the phone without too much noise. After all, if he had shoved it in a drawer there were no guarantees it wouldn’t get lost in a sea of random crap that tends to accumulate in drawers when one isn’t paying attention.

 

He sat on the bed another twenty minutes, staring at the phone; an inescapable sense of deja vu washed over him as he remembered the day he sat in this very spot six months ago, weighing his options as he considered Mexico. He flipped the phone open and a dim light shone up at his face. His heart skipped a beat, but fell when he noticed only a 2% charge. It was remarkable that the thing had any charge after this long, he realized. He shut the phone a little too forcefully and continued staring.

 

“Christ,” Ian sighed, getting up and stumbling down the stairs to the kitchen.

 

It was 2 in the morning and his shift started at 10. Ian glared at the clock but returned to his task, flipping on lights and tossing through drawers. Finally, a quarter through the third drawer, he found a loose charger. He hooked it into the phone and beamed at it when the charging bit slid in easily.

 

He took the stairs two at a time, bounding into his room and plugging it into the wall beside his bed. He held the phone for a moment longer before finally setting it on the bedside table and lying on the bed. Even as he lay down, though, he wouldn't look away. The phone remained in his sight until he finally slipped into sleep.


	2. Infestare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other Gallaghers have heard about Mickey's escape, too. And they're getting nervous that Ian might get some ideas...

Though Fiona and Lip had tread carefully around Ian for a while, with this news they seemed more inclined to check on him again.

 

Fiona looked up from the stove at Ian for a moment, but looked away when Ian met her gaze.

 

“What?” he asked. She looked up and shrugged, looking away anxiously. “What?” He repeated darkly. She shifted to the sink and shrugged again.

 

“I just didn't know if you'd... heard.” Ian paused, maintaining his gaze on her for a moment.

 

“Yeah...” He muttered. “And?” She shrugged again.

 

“Just... didn't know if you were going to do anything umm...”

 

“Stupid?” Lip finished for her, walking in from the living room. Ian rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.

 

"Fuck... guys, this again?" Ian demanded. Lip for once looked like he wanted to watch what he said.

 

"I've been warning you about that guy from day one, man. Every time you get involved, you get in trouble." Lip reasoned. Ian laughed. He was completely at his wits end with his siblings and their incessant nagging about Mickey. He laughed long and hard as he recalled all of the times he caused trouble for Mickey rather than the other way around. Ian shook his head in frustration, but he was also shaking away tears that started to gather as guilt settled in his stomach.

 

"I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He grabbed his wallet off the table and slung his jacket on. "Fucking drop it." His tone was harsh, demanding as he rushed out of the house, not wanting to fight but not wanting to accept any of this shit, either. He would just be early for work, he was already dressed. Lip, however, was not satisfied and followed Ian outside.

 

“So you aren't planning on trying to find him?” Lip demanded. Ian refused to turn around or stop walking, but called over his shoulder.

 

“And how exactly would I expect _to_ find him? Mexico is a big fucking country, man. And he may not even be there anymore!" Ian turned on his heel, ready to face his brother for the killing blow: "Hell, he could be dead! Wouldn't that make you happy?” He gave Lip a cheesy fake smile and laugh to put the sarcastic cherry on top of the biting delivery. Lip froze, wary. The realization had dawned on him last night and the thought wouldn't go away. He couldn't scrub the image Mickey's corpse from behind his eyes as he imagined all of the ways his travels in Mexico could have gone wrong.

 

“You think he could be dead?” Lip's voice was quiet and distant. He looked concerned.

 

“Why the fuck do you care? Wouldn't that solve all of your problems for me?” Ian snapped. Lip shook his head.

 

“Come on, man. You know me better than that.” Ian just shook his head back, and took a step back. He was about to turn away when Lip hurriedly closed the distance between them.

 

“Look, I know you think I hate the guy... And yeah, I don't really like him but, you've gotta know it's just because I don't want you to get in trouble. We both know you and prison... Not a good fit. And that's where you're going to end up if he comes back into your life. Why welcome it?” Ian nodded solemnly. But not because he agreed, but because he was _so tired_ of all of his problems being tossed on Mickey. Mickey who really didn't do anything, at least certainly not recently. "I know you regret not going." Lip spit out hurriedly. "I could see it the first week after you came back, even with Monica croaking, you clearly would have rathered been with him." Ian avoided his gaze, tears clouding his vision as the even more numerous mental images of them in Mexico flooded through his brain.

Mickey sipping a Corona, vehemently refusing to go out into the water with Ian who just wanted to splash around, not even swim. Finding a shack or something on the coast. Nothing fancy. Something small, cheap, private, and theirs. Ian finding honest pay and coming home to Mickey every night, Mickey probably fixing up neighbors porches or some shit for extra money. Actually needing to find ways to spice up their sex life because after a while they'd gone through every sort of type of fucking they could think of. Talking about getting a dog because why the fuck not? Finding joy in the small and simple pleasures that present themselves just from being together.

 

All of these things haunted and blessed Ian over the past few months. Yeah. He fucking regretted not going with him. Now, he resented it because he didn't even know if he was okay and his brain was driving him fucking nuts with the possibilities.

 

“I'm going to work. Stop bringing him up, Lip. I'm not going anywhere. I made my decision and I'm living with it. But stop fucking talking about him as though all of my problems are his fault. I'm trying to move on, but you know it's really hard to do that if you keep fucking bringing him up!” Ian couldn't help but shout that last bit, his frustration mounting. “Give me space, Lip. Please. Leave me alone.” He finally turned back around.

 

“I know you care about him, man but... Come on, Ian! Don't be like that!” He kept walking away, shaking his head as though trying to knock his brother's voice out of his head.

 

He hadn't allowed himself to dwell too much on the possibility that Mickey could be dead since the first time it had occurred to him... but now it was nagging at him. Really he had flung the point out to be a dick right back... but that backfired now. As he walked to work he kept trying to convince himself that Mickey was fine. Mickey was smart, smarter than anyone would ever give him credit for. And he was clever, that was how he got away with all of his schemes for so long. That must be all it is... It had to be.

 

Ian willed his mind to silence, though it didn't work for long. So he focused on good memories rather than anxiety-raising possibilities. He remembered Mickey finally taking care of Yevgeny. They had informally scheduled a rotation with all responsibilities around Yevgeny. All three of them in rotation and Mickey didn't even put up much fight, especially after Ian eagerly got involved. Ian couldn't help but remember feeding rotation... Though Mickey didn't have a problem with feeding time, there was always a discussion about the best way to do it because Svet insisted Mickey act more enthusiastic about the process. Mickey refused to do the airplane noises or gasping cheers like he and Svet usually did. While Svet insisted he do something excitable to turn the experience positive, Mickey insisted the positivity was in the food itself and always made fun of both of them when it was their turns, telling them they looked like fucking idiots. But he would grin at his son when Yev made it through a jar of food without too much trouble. Ian never called him on it though. Bringing attention to any outward signs of affection would put Mickey on guard for it and would have the opposite desired effect. It was that tough exterior that Mickey couldn't ditch, not even when it came to Yevgeny. Ian always supposed it was a tough characteristic to ditch when you developed it over the course of your lifetime for the sake of survival.

 

As Ian walked through the door of the station, he remembered waking up in the Milkovich house with Mickey holding a cup of coffee out for him. This was their routine most mornings. Then Mickey would sit on the edge of the bed and they'd split a morning cigarette. They would share their plans for the day (Ian usually not planning much of anything but usually doing something to spruce up the house or do something fun with Yev and Liam) and sometimes they would kick off the morning with a quick bang.

 

As he opened his locker and started getting ready for his day, Ian broke into a smile when he remembered a couple of times when they would be banging and one of them would make a noise the other found funny and they would just bust into laughter... Then one of them would cup the others face and lower them into a kiss and they'd return to their actions with renewed vigor and passion. Ian's heart swelled at the memory, but it also felt heavy because while he was happy from the memory, he was equally saddened that it was _only_ a memory.

 

He slammed the locker door a little harder than necessary and turned to find Sue in early as well.

 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, startled. Her brows raised.

 

“Maybe I should be asking you the same question there, Gallagher?” She teased. Ian sighed and leaned back against the door. “I had a feeling you would get here early...”

 

“You _too?_ ” Ian groaned.

 

“Hey, you're the one that told me about your little adventure...” She defended. Ian looked away.

 

"Didn't think you'd remember him, I guess." He mumbled. She sighed and looked on with sympathy.

 

“How are you holding up?” He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets, looking down at his shoes.

 

“Just, don't want to think about it...” He sighed. A surge of panic wracked him though, when he remembered that she knew everything about Ian's escapade. He hadn't meant to tell her any of it but she'd noticed when he came back that something was different. “You never told anyone--”

 

“I haven't breathed a word.” She promised.

 

“You know how much trouble you could get me into...” He hinted. She shrugged. “Could probably even get a reward.” She glared at him.

 

“Fuck you, Gallagher, you should know me better than that.” He frowned and shook his head.

 

“Sorry...” She still looked miffed at the suggestion but she shook it off.

 

“Wanna get this show on the road? If I know anything about you it's that when you are in the throes of an emotional crisis, you've gotta stay busy...” He smirked a little and strode with purpose to where the talkies were stored. Grabbing one and hooking it to his belt, he turned to face her and grinned.

 

 

//////

 

Another two months went by and Ian did everything in his power to keep busy. Carl had finally gotten around to selling his share of the meth and there had been some... complications. They'd even been involved in a few chases from cops and dealers... They'd brought back memories of the few times he and Mickey had ran away from cops or even just ran together just to run. They'd had to do some questionable things for the sake of this meth... But it was over now. Even with everything going on, though, Ian took the phone out of the side table drawer every night. Every other night, he opened the phone and would start a text to the only number stored on the phone before he'd back out and delete the draft, tossing the phone in the drawer and tossing over to face the wall, laying awake for an hour or two before finally falling asleep. The temptation to call, to share his adventures (as he would only call them in retrospect), was so strong because he also wanted to know Mickey's. This being Mickey Milkovich he was certain there'd be plenty. But no matter how strong the desire was, he never sent that message or hit the green button to call.

 

He was afraid. 

 

Afraid of Mickey's anger, his own guilt, sick with worry that something had gone wrong... Afraid that reaching out would only get them both into trouble... So, as tempting as it was, Ian always tucked the phone back into the drawer the next morning after falling asleep staring at the damn thing.

 

Ian was minding his business at the kitchen island with a sandwich and glass of water when Debbie came marching through the front door, Franny and garbage bag in tow. At the sound of her entering the house in a huff, Ian peeked an inquisitive eye at the living room and instantly broke into a grin. 

 

"Debs!" He raced to her and embraced his sister, careful of his niece. "Franny..." He ran his fingers gently over her wispy hair.

 

"Hey, Ian." Debbie huffed. His brow furrowed and he took her bag from her.

 

"Everything okay?" When he felt how heavy the bag was, he tossed it onto the couch. "Moving back in?" She pouted.

 

"Yeah... I kinda got involved with someone... Made a mess with Neil.." Ian rolled his eyes and walked back into the kitchen.

 

"So now you're joining the Gallagher family romance fuck-up club!" He opened the fridge and took out the orange juice, Debs' favorite, and poured her a glass. She took it with a grimace.

 

"I thought I was already there with what I did to Matty and Derek..." Ian shrugged.

 

"Eh, maybe. But they weren't actually  _boyfriends_ so now it's official." Debbie looked like she was going to argue, but nodded and shrugged, taking a sip from her juice.

 

"Is this new guy nice?" Ian finally asked after an awkward pause. Debbie nodded and placed Franny in the high chair. The baby started reaching for Debbie right away.

 

"Uh, yeah. He's nice. He's good with Franny, and has all of his cognitive functions intact." She muttered bitterly. Ian choked for a second at the rudeness from his sister. He knew it shouldn't have shocked him; she'd been a bit of a bitch as soon as puberty hit, but for some reason this remark struck him as especially insensitive. "So umm... I need to get a job now that I have my certification but I probably won't be able to afford daycare..." Ian quirked a brow.

 

"Why are you asking me as though  _I_ don't have a job?" Ian laughed a little. Debbie sighed.

 

"I don't know.. I didn't know if there was any way you or Lip or Carl could watch her for me when you can?" She asked, looking flustered and even a little desperate.

 

"I mean, if I don't have work, sure. But it's not consistent enough to depend on me." Debbie nodded. 

 

"I'll figure it out, then. Thanks, Ian." Ian nodded and took a bite of his sandwich. She kept glancing at him warily, almost like a nervous tick. His brow furrowed as he chewed.

 

"What?" He demanded, already knowing where this was headed. Debbie sighed.

 

"I'm sure you've already had the others up your ass about it, you don't need someone else." She murmured.

 

"Jesus Christ, Debs!" Ian cried, swallowing the last of the bite of sandwich. She sighed and hung her head.

 

"I don't want to lecture or even question what you are going to do. I just wanted to know if you're okay." Ian paused, watched her, then deflated. "I mean, yeah I want to know if you go to find him because we deserve a goodbye from you... But you're still here so, I take it you aren't going... Or at least not right away." Ian closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back on the stool.

 

"I don't know, Debs. I feel..." He exhaled again. "I don't know how I feel." She just watched him, willing him to go on. "Everyone is waiting for me to have another psychotic break and just  _go_ without some sort of plan and sometimes I want to, and other times I don't because I don't want to prove them all right. But it's killing me not knowing where he is... If he's okay..." 

 

"He's still free-" 

 

"No, he's still not been caught. There's a difference." Debbie's eyes widened at this.

 

"You mean you think he's-"

 

"I don't fucking know!" Ian cried standing from the stool, admittedly a little dramatically. "But I just want to know. That's it. Just know that he's still  _free_ and not just... not caught." Debbie walked around to him and wrapped her arms around him. He stood rigid for a moment before finally wrapping his arms around her too.

 

"Is there any way that you can contact him? An address or phone number?" She asked into his arm. He released her from the hug.

 

"I have a burner phone... It was the one he gave me when he came around last time." He replied, taking a seat in a regular chair.

 

Franny started to get fussy in her chair and Debbie moved to the fridge to get the orange juice and a sippy cup from the trash bag Ian had laid on the counter.

 

"Use it, dumbass!" She laughed. Ian looked at her warily.

 

"No... It may get tracked." Ian argued.

 

"Six months after his escape and two months after the search was called off? You think they are going to pick up on this  _one_ phonecall?" He looked at her hopefully. "Just call him... Leave a vague message if he doesn't pick up... If he calls back, great. If not just tell yourself he dropped the number." She was topping off the sippy cup with water, diluting the orange juice for Franny. Shaking the bottle as she made her way to the now whining baby, Debbie smiled at Ian reassuringly.

 

"You think I should? Everyone else thinks I need to keep my distance." Debbie rolled her eyes at Ian's insecure question.

 

"Yeah, well, since when does anyone in this family have room to offer relationship advice?" She smirked. Ian nodded absently. It was true... Hurtful and sad, but true. "Just think about it." Debbie insisted. "If I know anything about Mickey it's that he's crazy about you. If he had one existing link to you, I can't see him getting rid of it." Ian nodded. She placed her hand over his and smiled a sweet smile. It reminded him of the old Debs. The little girl who used to make coffee for her absent father despite him being awful to her. The little girl who worried about Fiona living her life just as much as Fiona worried about caring for the family.

 

"Thanks, Debs." Debbie nodded. They talked for another hour or so before Ian shooed her away to start looking for a job. After sitting by himself for ten minutes he decided he needed some companionship and invited Trevor out for a drink and round of pool.

 

It was an empty distraction, but it kept him busy. His mind, however, was still on that phone in his side table drawer. Even as he laughed and joked around with Trevor, he kept thinking about how it would feel to make that phone call. What he would say...

 

His resolve was wearing down and he knew it was only a matter of time before he finally called. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to tip your fanfic writer! :)  
> We accept Kudos and constructive comments! <3


	3. Insomnium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian realizes how much he misses Mickey when he has a vivid wet dream...

 

_“Christ, Mick!” Ian groaned, fingers grasping at Mickey's soft hips as he picked up the pace over him. Mickey smirked in that cocky way of his when he knew he was giving it to Ian good. He paused on a downstroke, fully seated on Ian's lap, and just rolled his hips, biting his lip in that way that drove Ian nuts. Ian just threw his head back and groaned, lavishing in the movement. Mickey's satisfied half-lidded look burned behind his eyelids as he moaned with the added pressure._

_To wipe that smug look off his beautiful face, Ian gave a powerful thrust, forcing a booming moan out of him. Mickey's eyes shuddered closed and his head drooped between his shoulders as he ground back on Ian's lap to meet him for the next thrust. His tattooed fingers stretched from where they had been pressed against Ian's chest over to his shoulders, where they curled for leverage as Mickey continued pushing back on Ian's lap. Mickey slowly eased himself against Ian's chest as he relinquished some of his control, reaching back to wrap one hand around Ian's thigh, gaining even more leverage, pushing back with vigor. Ian palmed at Mickey's ass giving himself more control to thrust deeply inside him. Mickey keened over and fully draped himself over Ian, their bodies molding together, the hand that was grabbing at Ian's thigh returned to his shoulder, and then softly cupped Ian's neck. With another mewling sound strangling out, Mickey completely surrendered to Ian, biting his lip and driving Ian wild from the image. Mickey was still trying to be quiet, but Ian had given up the effort a long time ago. It's not as though Fiona and Lip hadn't kept him awake for hours at a time growing up with their sexual hi jinx._

_Seizing his opportunity, Ian held tight to Mickey's thigh and one of the hands grasping his shoulder, and twisted his body, flipping them over. Unfortunately, that meant slipping out as he switched their positions, try as he might to stay connected._

Damn this teeny bed _, Ian cursed mentally._

_Mickey groaned disappointedly at the loss and adjusted himself under Ian quickly, working to minimize the amount of time they were separated. He kept one hand on Ian's shoulder and lifted his hips, eagerly waiting for Ian to fill him up again. As he did, Mickey's head fell back, a sigh falling from his lips. Ian savored the feeling of slowly rolling his hips back against Mickey, Mickey accepting him as he entered him again. Ian loved the feeling of Mickey wrapped around him, working with him, loving him._

_He set out a slow rhythm first as Mickey welcomed him back. As Mickey became overcome with the sensations, he lay flat on his back, dragging Ian with him, his fingers woven through Ian's hair. The moment was so beautiful his heart expanded in his chest and he was almost overcome by emotion. To cover the surge of embarrassment, Ian lowered himself closer to Mickey as he maintained that steady rhythm, weaving his own fingers in Mickey's hair. Mickey closed his eyes, licked his bottom lip in that way he does, and threw his head back, raising his hips to meet Ian stroke for stroke._

_This was what Ian had missed. Not just over the past six months since leaving Mickey at the border, but for the past almost three years living mostly without him. When they had lived together, they made love all of the time, and Ian never realized how much he loved that. He always thought he preferred it rough, and the slow and thorough fucking they were doing was just because it was new... Now he knew differently. Though he'd never admit it to Mickey, the slow and heavy was the best because the connection was most palpable the longest, he got to enjoy Mickey in so many ways when they did it like this. When they were on their adventure together last year, there hadn't been time for lovemaking except for that final night under the stars. And it hadn't been nearly enough. Now he had him back... and he was going to relish every single moment and never allow Mickey to go a second feeling undervalued or under-appreciated._

_“Mick...” Ian sighed, dropping his forehead to Mickey's chest, rolling his hips into him. Mickey pressed back greedily and cupped the back of Ian's neck, throwing his other arm over Ian's back. Ian kissed his chest and traveled up to his neck where he sucked lightly as they moved together. Mickey pressed his neck into Ian's loving mouth and Ian gave him the smallest of nips, pulling a light laugh out of Mickey. Ian smiled against Mickey's neck and rose up on his forearms to look at that smile that he swore could power the sun. Mickey wasn't smiling anymore, but that was okay because the sinful look on Mickey's face may have been even better than his smile..._

_Maybe._

_One side of Mickey's face was pressed into the pillow, his brows drawn in concentration and bottom lip between his teeth._

_"Mick... Look at me?"  He obliged and Ian's world rocked as Mickey released his bottom lip and opened his eyes. Ian was transfixed by Mickey's blown out eyes and the wanton set of his open mouth. As Ian gave one particularly hard thrust, Mickey threw one of his legs over Ian's hip and groaned deeply into Ian's chest._

_“Ian...” Mickey whined into Ian's throat. Pride surged through him at reducing the big, bad Mickey Milkovich to this. Mickey dropped his hand from Ian's hair to raise himself up on his forearm. Mickey's lips ghosted over Ian's as they worked a particularly amazing spot inside of Mickey. They were breathing each other in, maintaining a heavy-lidded eye contact, seconds away from kissing passionately, but not quite there because they were both so close._

_“I love you, man.” Mickey moaned. Ian's heart soared in his chest and he rewarded Mickey's words with a redoubling of his efforts._

_“I love you too, Mick.” Ian couldn't help his grin as he pulled Mickey's second leg over his waist. Mickey chuckled and threw his head back, arms wrapped around Ian's neck, fingers tugging at his hair. Ian wrapped both arms around Mickey's back, drawing him closer. Mickey chuckled deeply, seeming surprised that Ian was able to hold him up like this._

_Come to think of it, Ian was surprised too. Mickey was completely off the bed... almost like he was floating... But Ian hadn't shifted his weight to the back of his heels or anything... both of his arms were off the bed, around Mickey. And Mickey wasn't exactly a big guy, but... Ian wasn't even exerting himself to hold him close, and with no support from Mickey... This isn't possible... Ian realized with confusion._

_Ian leaned down to kiss Mickey, and when he made contact, panic erupted in his belly when he didn't feel anything there against his lips. His hips stopped moving and he opened his eyes._

 

Mickey's beautiful face was no more than a pillow. Ian blinked several times as he stared at his pillow, dumbfounded. Tears stung the back of his eyes.

A dream. A damned, cruel dream. His arms were draped over the pillow, his fingers frozen in space as if they had been running through Mickey's soft hair. Ian just stared at the empty bed beneath him and let the crushing weight of reality press on him. As he started to lower his body to the bed, his hard dick practically shrieked in protest, the angle about to cause serious pain. That was the last straw.

Ian flipped over on to his side and sobbed. He wanted Mickey so desperately that his absence felt like a gaping hole in his chest. He clutched the pillow that he apparently had been using as a fake Mickey to his chest and sobbed. As he sobbed he remembered the moment he dreamed of. It wasn't just a fantasy, it was the first time Mickey ever told him he loved him. It was cliché as fuck that it was during sex, but it was how it happened and Ian savored that memory more than just about any other memory in his life.

 

_After he'd driven them both to climax, they'd laid together, brushing their fingertips over the other; Mickey running his fingers over Ian's chest, Ian's over Mickey's shoulder as Mickey cuddled into Ian's side. That had been another first. They'd spooned before sure, but never straight up cuddled, and especially not after sex. Ian had asked Mickey if he'd meant it. Mickey's fingers had stopped moving and he remained quiet for a second._

_“Obviously, or I wouldn't have fuckin' said it.” Mickey snarked back. Ian knew that it was his way of dealing with his vulnerability in that moment, so he didn't take any offense from the tone. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and kissed the top of his head._

_“I love you,” Ian repeated in a soft murmur. Mickey started, as though he was ready to snap something out, a rebuttal of sorts, when he stopped himself. He sagged against Ian's side._

_“I love you, too.” Mickey replied quietly. Ian soaked up the sound of Mickey finally saying those amazing, all consuming words. “But don't expect me to say it all of the fuckin' time. If we say it every ten minutes it won't mean anything.” Mickey did eventually snap out._

_“Yeah, that's not really your style is it?” Ian chuckled. He rested his cheek on top of the slightly damp swirl of hair on Mickey's head and just breathed. “Still, it's nice to hear you finally say it.” Mickey just settled into Ian's side and closed his eyes. Ian didn't expect him to say anything after that. And he was almost glad he didn't because the comfortable silence they sank into was everything to him. They just laid together and breathed in post coital bliss and basking in the full extent of their love._

 

He didn't know how long he cried for, but sadly it wasn't long enough and his dick was not getting the memo that now was not the time.

“For fuck's sake!” Ian groaned at the stubborn erection. He really didn't feel like getting off right now but the need to come was almost painful. Ian sighed and turned on his back, tears falling more slowly and intermittently. He sighed and gripped himself trying to remember the first half of the dream when Mickey was riding him so good. Mickey used to do that all of the time for him when they lived together. Ian had actively missed it over the past three years but never enough to dream about it...

Not getting laid for six months would probably do that to you, Ian guessed. He cleared his head of all thoughts other than Mickey...

 

_Mickey's hands on his chest, Mickey playfully grinding hard even when he was already fully seated and acting surprised when Ian retaliated by thrusting up. Mickey's head thrown back in ecstasy. Triumph flooding Ian's veins as he watched Mickey coming undone. Mickey leaning back, using Ian's body to guide them both to their climax. Sometimes, Ian would sit up so they were nose to nose and the angle would change. And Mickey would be both pissed and enraptured. Pissed because it delayed his orgasm, but happy about it because the new angle would feel so good that he'd grip Ian's hair almost to the point of pain in his ecstasy. Ian would wrap his arm around Mickey's waist and Mickey would keep a firm grip on Ian's shoulders or hair, working himself twice as hard as before, desperate to find release, both of them wanting him to come untouched if only for the bragging rights. Ian thrust especially hard and Mickey dropped his head to Ian's shoulder, a loud moan escaping him, all intentions of staying quiet forgotten. Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian's neck, hands trailing into his hair... They both went over the edge unexpectedly. One time, Ian remembered, they said “I love you” at the same time during a session like this..._

It took Ian even less time than he expected, but finally he came. Remembering the “I love you” they shared during another session... that had done it for some reason. There was little satisfaction to the release though, and most of the satisfaction came from the image of Mickey coming over him, remembering the feeling of Mickey's body caressing him and encouraging him to climax; remembering the feel of Mickey's back under his hands and Mickey's hands in his hair, massaging his scalp as they both came. Any satisfaction he had just now basically dissipated after he opened his eyes. As soon as Mickey disappeared again, leaving him alone with his empty and incomplete orgasm.

He lay there, wet spot on his pants and drips of semen on his stomach, and cried a little more.

He lay awake for some time, but the time accelerated and before he knew it, it was 7 AM and it was time to start getting ready for work. He cleaned himself up and threw his pants in the dirty laundry pile in his room. Not even bothering with a shower, he just got dressed and ready for work. He paused as he was about to walk out the door though, and turned to stare at his bedside table. It'd be stupid... He wasn't going to use it anyway...  But maybe just to have...

He took the three strides necessary over to the drawer and took the damned phone out, pocketing it in all of two seconds. He hoped that the work day would somehow get his mind off Mickey... But of course, with that stupid hunk of plastic in his pocket, it was quite unlikely.

//////

Ian startled everyone has he burst through the backdoor into the kitchen after work. 

"Jesus, Ian!" Fiona gasped.

"Yeah, the fuck happened to you?" Lip asked. Debbie looked on warily, feeding Franny her dinner. Ian just ripped off his jacket and violently untucked his shirt. The fuck happened to him? He's just spent the entire day distracted, thinking about Mickey  _again._ And because he was distracted he missed some  _obvious_ things about his patients that could have royally fucked everything up. Sue ripped him a new one, which he definitely deserved, but that only made him more upset. She told him that if he didn't get his head screwed on straight soon she'd have to tell their superior that he needed time off. As it was, he already had a couple of days off after today so he had to take these couple of days to screw his head on straight and _focus_.

He ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"Just a bad day," He sighed. Fiona's brows furrowed.

"How bad?" She asked, sitting down next to him, beer of her own in her hand. He looked up at her and grimaced.

"Just had a bad day, okay?" He shrugged and took a sip of his beer, leaning back in his seat. Fiona set her beer down and looked like she was winding up for a talk. "Fiona. I swear to god, I _am_ allowed to have a bad day." Ian warned. She blew air through her lips almost like a horse, the frustration and concern apparent in the set of her shoulders. "I'm not manic or depressed. I'm the same blah that I've been over the past six months. Stop freaking the fuck out whenever I have a bad day." Fiona nodded, the room silenced. 

He looked around at everyone and was horrified at how nervous everyone seemed. 

"What?" He demanded. No one spoke up or moved. "Go back to what you were doing! You don't need to stand there and watch me, I just had a bad day." Debbie moved first, picking up Franny, wiping her little mouth with her bib.

"Gonna give Franny her bath and put her to bed." Debbie mumbled. Fiona swallowed, nodded her head and didn't move further. Lip started moving around the kitchen, grabbing pans and basically just trying to  _look_ busy since it was still a little early for everyone's dinner. Liam went back to his homework.

Ian took a pull of his drink and sat in what he tried to make contented silence, but the air was too static... too heavy. He huffed out a heavy breath and darted out the door since everyone was so goddamned tense around him. Luckily no one called after him.

 

He stood on the porch for a moment, breathing in the crisp night air.

The street was silent and empty. No one was even hanging out on their porches. Not even the quiet whisper of bugs. It was unnerving. 

Why was he surrounded by silence?

His family didn't know how to talk to him or around him, so they sat in tense silence. He couldn't talk to Trevor without upsetting either of them because even when they were having a good time, all he wanted to do was talk about Mickey, meanwhile Trevor was still trying to move over his irritation that Ian had skipped out on him  _for_ Mickey.

He took his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket before sitting down and lit one, situating himself against the rail to get comfortable. He was going to be there a while. 

The cool air felt good on his clammy skin, though the complete silence still made him wary.

Suddenly, he had the most pressing need to call Mickey. It just wasn't  _fair!_

Mickey was going to stand by him through  _everything_ and fucking Ian had to let him go... And to tell the truth, he couldn't even remember why he had broken up with him. At the time, it had all made so much sense, but now he realized that whatever justifications he had made up, hadn't been legitimate. He had been scared... Well, that fucking sucked for  _him_ didn't it? Ian laughed bitterly at himself and sucked on the cigarette.

He would have come to his senses... Mickey had to have known that. Mickey believed in them more than anything else in the world. Mickey had to have known that Ian would have come back eventually... but then he had to go and escape from a federal prison. Ian hadn't felt any bitterness or anger at Mickey for escaping before... This was new. And it was selfish. Ian knew why he was suddenly upset at Mickey for doing this stupid thing. Because he knew Mickey probably never would have escaped if Ian had visited... He probably would have kept his head down (as well as a Milkovich in prison can), served his time, and came home to him to pick up where they left off. And Ian? Ian could have gotten him a decent lawyer, especially after he got into the EMT shit. Once he started collecting real money he could have done something!

He dropped his head to his knees and exhaled sharply at the thought. 

_Can't think that way... Gotta take responsibility for your own shit, not someone else's._

Mickey could have stayed in prison. He could have called or demanded that Svetlana bring him back... He would've come back! Wouldn't he?

All of the breath rushed out of Ian and tears fell, unbidden, down his cheeks.

He didn't know. He had no idea what would have happened if Mickey had stayed in prison. He might have just stayed in there for at least 8 years completely on his own...  _Or,_ Ian thought,  _I might have gotten my head on straight and gone to visit once I realized how fucking stupid I was being._

At the moment, he wanted to say he would have come to his senses, would have hired a kickass lawyer with that money he gave Mickey at the border. But in actuality? Who the fuck would ever know?

The realization that he had no idea made him crumble.

He collapsed into his knees and allowed a sob to break from his chest as he remembered Mickey's anger and defeat when Ian had handed the money over, as though that was what he was after... Mickey was disgusted that Ian would even accidentally insinuate that the money would be a decent enough substitute for Ian's company. Of course, Ian had known better... He just wanted to set Mickey up for an easier transition. Kinda like how Mickey had tried to help smooth Ian's transition with his meds.

From the moment he saw Mickey pass over the border, he knew he'd grow to regret his decision to stay behind.

Ian felt broken remembering Mickey's hurt at Ian's fickleness; the hurt on his face when Ian had visited him for the final time in prison.

He didn't know how long he cried for, but it was long and hard until finally he had to sit up and tilt his head back to force air into his lungs and open his throat.

He just sat there breathing for long weighted moments, forcing air into his lungs and trying to stop the flow of tears. It wasn't that he as afraid of emotion. He was just getting a headache and didn't want to take pills for it when he's already started downing a beer. Remembering it's presence, he took a long pull from the bottle, savoring the familiarity of the flavor, of the feel of the glass at his lips, the flush of warmth that starts from the stomach and works its way out through the whole body. This warmth made Ian shudder, the easy chill no longer feeling good against him, but bitter. 

He lit his cigarette and tried to stop himself from doing what he knew he was going to do.

 _Really shouldn't... I_ really  _shouldn't do this..._

As he took a long drag from his cigarette, he pulled out the phone from his pocket. He stared at the damned thing as he had for the past several dozen nights, twisting it in the light from the porch. He was breathing easier now, focusing on the long inhale on the cigarette and forcing himself to maintain a slow but steady stream of smoke on the exhale.

 _Shouldn't do this... Like..._ Really  _shouldn't..._

He flipped the top of the phone up and took in the default welcome screen. Kind of wishing he could be looking at his own home screen instead--or well at least, the one from a couple of years ago. He still looked at those photos every now and again, but he'd changed out his home and lock screens so he wouldn't have to look at Mickey every time he needed his phone. All because he was so adamant to forget Mickey... As though he ever  _could._

Ian released another smoky, bitter, breath as he mentally chided himself for thinking that could  _ever_ be possible. 

_Before you lose your nerve..._

He dialed.

It rang once...

It rang again...

And again...

Ian started to panic. What if he picked up? What if someone else did? What if he got voicemail? Why did he dial without having a game plan?!

"You have reached the voicemail box of -" Mickey had recorded dead air. Ian didn't know why he didn't just let the phone number play like any normal human, but boredom makes people do some weird things, and while Mickey had been in Chicago for those two days, he'd been bored out of his mind waiting for Ian to get back to him and waiting for his IDs to be ready. Ian guessed Mickey had fucked around with the voicemail for something to do and left it as dead air so no one would actually know who it was.

Suddenly, the voicemail beeped.

Ian had missed the rest of the automated message. Before he even knew what he was doing, he started speaking.

“Hey... um..." Ian coughed to shake some of the nerves out. "You probably know who this is I don't even need to say it... I uh..." He blew out a breath and closed his eyes, prepping himself. "I just had a really shitty day—well, with everything you're going through I guess 'poor me' right?” He laughs darkly. “Listen... I regret, every day, not going with you. I just had a shitty day and I really wish you were here for me to talk about it with.” He sniffs, tears collecting behind his eyes as another stab of pain shudders through his chest. “Well, there's no use in wishing is there? You're where you need to be and I'm... an idiot. If it matters.... I still love you. I get it if you don't want to call me back. For all I know this isn't even your number anymore...” He broke off, embarrassment flooding him at the thought of a stranger hearing this vague message and thinking "who the fuck is this weirdo?" He realized he needed to wrap this message up soon. “But um... if you do hear this... I miss you. A fucking lot. And I'm sorry I never saw you when I had the chance. I really fucking regret that now-"

the voicemail bot picked up, informing him the message went on too long. His heart dropped to his stomach and he had to fight the urge to throw up. Before he changed his mind, he pressed the button to send the message through. That would have to be enough. He wanted Mickey to know he was sorry and that he still loved him. Why he needed Mickey to know that, Ian didn't understand. But he did. Ian sat on the porch another hour or so before going in, alternating between smoking, crying, and smoking _and_ crying, trying so hard not to go inside for another bottle of beer. Mickey wouldn't want him getting drunk because Mickey was right, one beer was _more_ than enough with his meds. Speaking of which, it was that time.

Ian sighed and slumped to his room where he took his meds and stared at the phone again. He was half tempted to try calling him again... Maybe a text?

No. Definitely not. Gotta leave him alone.

Chances were it wasn't even Mickey's number any more. He released a blubbering sigh that would have been embarrassing if he wasn't alone and set the phone on the bedside table. As he did every night, he stared at it until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do personally believe that the first time Mickey said "I love you" on screen was the actual first time he told Ian he loved him. But this is my fanfic, so I do what I want :P  
> I just had to add that bit of corniness in because it was a beautiful thought, though I don't necessarily believe it happened that way canonically.
> 
> Don't forget to tip your fanfic writer! :)  
> We accept Kudos and constructive comments! <3


	4. Reconcilio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise for Ian

After a week of giving the cold shoulder to his siblings, he finally realized that he'd made his point and that it would be okay to start letting the frost melt a bit. No one talked to him about anything dark, no one made a smart remark, no one looked at him sideways like he was ready to snap at any given moment. Finally!

 

He hated that it had taken that explosion to get his siblings to understand that they were pissing him off and needed to let go... but it had been effective at least.

 

He spent his time with Trevor, slowly letting a certain someone's face fade to the back of his mind. Though he could only accomplish that consciously... When he was asleep, that was a whole other story.

 

He dreamed about Mickey every fucking night. Mostly platonic, though there was one more episode where he woke up full mast because damn him, he dreamed that he was back at the Milkovich house, fucking the life out of Mickey like they used to, Mickey moaning like a pornstar and begging for more because that guy simply could never get enough. Like he wouldn't be satisfied until they were sharing the same skin. It was fucking intense.

 

When he wasn't giving himself a really uncomfortable case of morning wood, he was dreaming of calmer things... He and Mickey laying in a hammock on the coast of Mexico; salty breeze keeping them cool despite the heat, the slight taste of salt and sunscreen on his lips when he would kiss Mickey's forehead, Mickey wrapping his arms tighter around him dozing in the heat. The two of them making a mess in the kitchen because they were more focused on goofing off than actually cooking. Mickey passing out on Ian's shoulder during a movie Ian didn't even want to see in the first place, but agreed to because Mickey had a point that they usually did what Ian wanted to do. No matter what he dreamed though, there as a peace between them. All had been forgiven. There was no resentment, no pent up anger, no judgement... They were perfect. He'd often woken with the sound of Mickey's free laugh. That laugh that no one heard but him when they would goof off at the abandoned building, in the privacy of their room, or at the Milkovich house when no one had been around to hear. No one believed that Mickey had a sense of humor or that he was capable of being happy. But Ian had seen it right away, even as a teenager. And Ian lived to make Mickey smile and laugh. He lived to see him free.

 

But those were dreams.

 

Back in reality, things weren't so simple.

 

After leaving the voicemail, Ian put the phone back in the drawer and didn't take it back out. It was time to move on, even if he sorely didn't want to. It was just... time.

 

Mickey wasn't coming back and it was time that Ian faced that fact.

 

Life was really lonely for the moment, though of course that was definitely due to the cold shoulder routine with his family, which he knew he'd have to cut soon if he wanted to stay strong against the desire to call Mickey.

 

 

Trevor had come over the night after Ian called Mickey. He'd invited him because he knew Trevor was always down for a joint or two and Ian fucking needed to relax. The Gallaghers were mostly leaving Ian alone so they didn't bother them. Trevor was telling Ian about this date he'd gone on with a guy who had a Trans fetish.

“It was semi-flattering at first, then it got creepy... He started talking about my junk like it was the Madonna or something...” Ian sucked on the joint and passed it.

 

“So... you didn't bone?” Ian asked. Trevor punched his shoulder as he accepted the joint.

 

“Fuck no! We aren't all narcissists who need our dicks worshipped by everyone we encounter!” Trevor teased. Ian clutched his chest in mock agony.

 

“Oh! That one cut deep! Of course we all need our dicks worshipped!” Trevor laughed as he inhaled. Ian leaned back against the arm of the sofa and sighed, reaching his fingers out for the joint.

 

“Alright... Tell me what's up.” Trevor sighed as he too lay back. Ian peeked up at him over his knees.

 

“What's up?” Trevor gave him the _don't bullshit me, Gallagher_ look and Ian groaned, laying flat again.

 

“I called Mickey.” Trevor shot up and watched Ian attempt to take a smooth drag.

 

“You didn't.” Trevor looked furious. “Ian, you know how fucking dangerous that is—”

 

“I just left a message and it's not like anyone is going to trace this exact phone at this exact moment.” Ian reasoned. Trevor nodded and leaned back, but didn't look exactly satisfied.

 

“I swear to God, Ian, if you get yourself locked up over this bullshit...” Ian nodded as Trevor voiced his own concern.

 

“Or if I get him caught...” Ian rubbed aggressively at his eyes as he was avoiding tearing up. Trevor grimaced as though that had been the last thing on his mind and was irritated that this was Ian's concern. “I just... Needed to.”

 

“Well... Did it help?” Trevor asked. Ian stared up at the ceiling, not knowing how to answer.

 

//////

 

The desire to call today was unbearable...

 

They were going, going, going all day at work, and just about everyone they got to was either dead on arrival, almost dead and were lost on the way to the hospital, or were violent from a drug or mental illness. It was an emotionally draining day. Sue kept reminding him that there wasn't any more he could have done, that everything he did was fine...

 

But it didn't take any of the sting out of the fact that he lost at every turn today. He managed to hold himself together right up until he got home.

 

No one was home and he didn't know how he felt about that...

 

After his bullshit of a day he didn't really want to be alone. But at the same time, with how horrible today was, he may have just gotten more worried glances and sly looks of evaluation. He didn't think he'd handle that, either.

 

"Debs?" He called, pacing to the fridge, reaching for a beer.

 

"Lip?" He climbed the stairs, ducking his head inside all of the bedrooms. They were all empty.

 

Strange.

 

Ian had never seen this house so empty.

 

He sighed and trudged to his own room, leaving the barrier open so anyone who came home could come in.

 

He had nothing to do but sit on his bed and sulk. He could call Trevor... But it was mid-afternoon, Trevor was probably at work.

 

His attention unconsciously turned to the side table drawer. Once he realized what he was staring at, he turned his head sharply away and took a long drink.

 

"No." He ordered himself. Absolutely not...

 

It had been a week... But surely if he hadn't heard anything it was because he either changed the number or chose not to call him back... Before he knew what he was doing, the phone was magically cradled in his hands, beer on the table top. He lovingly stroked the face of the burner phone before he realized how fucking creepy that was and chucked it to the bedspread.

 

Air, he needed air. He changed quickly out of his fatigues and pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie. It was still warm enough to tolerate a quick run.

 

He didn't start off slow like you're supposed to. He took to the pavement of the sidewalk and raced into a sprint. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep it up long, but he had to clear his brain. And most importantly, he could not break.

 

It was time to let go. Moments later, he realized the familiar red brick exterior of the Milkovich house was growing in his vision as he approached.

 

Goddammit, he chided himself. He slowed to a light jog and took in the shabby yard, the boarded up windows.

 

What had happened to his old home? Did Mickey know? Ian bit out a bitter laugh and picked up the pace, zooming right by.

 

Mickey probably didn't care. Though Mickey had been prepared to spend the rest of his life in that house, he hadn't exactly had many fond memories there. Unless they were with Ian.

 

And they had made some fucking amazing memories to cover up the numerous nightmares. They'd had a “thrupple” of their own with Svet, and Yevgenny had been just as much his as Mickey's. They had a routine, they had a flow. They had their own version of normal and Ian couldn't help but picture everything in his life (medicated and working as an EMT) but with the Milkoviches back in it.

 

Damn him, the fucking waterworks were starting again! He pushed through the tears and kept running.

 

////

 

When he got home, it was dark and still, no one was home.

 

Did he miss something? Was there a party or a celebration? Or... Was everyone just finally moving on with their lives. Everyone had jobs, Liam had friends...

 

“Shit—” Ian breathed, taking the stairs two at a time to take a shower. He worked to clear his head, but he couldn't shake the overwhelming feeling of being left behind. His brother was going back to school next fall. Just community college, but still. He'd end up getting enough support from his new teachers to get accepted basically anywhere in spite of his expulsion. Debbie was on her way to being a professional welder at which point she wouldn't need to live with them anymore and could move away. Carl was on his way to being an officer—something he honestly felt the teeniest pang of jealousy about as he remembered how devoted he had been to the same goal once upon a time. Fiona was a fucking landlord and was killing it. And Liam was an honors student and would end up getting academic scholarship offers from colleges and universities across the country—just you wait. Meanwhile, Ian was doing well as an EMT and he loved his job... But he had no desire to move out because what would he have to look forward to then? He'd be living by himself and the loneliness would surely be suffocating. He had let Mickey go on without him... Ian was falling as far behind as was possible without being on drugs or unmedicated.

 

Ian rest his forehead against the tile of the shower wall, remembering Mickey's look of resignation when Ian told him he wasn't going with him. That look had cut him to the core because he knew that he had just obliterated Mickey's hopes, ripped his happiness from him. He felt the same way, though! But that only mattered so much when the fact remained that Mickey was on his own in just about every way possible while Ian was over here miserable, sure, but free.

 

“Fuck it.” Ian muttered to himself. He switched the shower off and hurriedly dried himself off, pulling on the dirty clothes he'd just stripped off and yanking on his heavy jacket with the hood before stomping outside. He needed to pace, needed lots of room to do so.

 

He flipped the phone open, selected the number saved in it, and pressed call before he could stop himself. His gut twisted as he listened to the connection tone. He felt like he was going to be sick...

 

Voicemail picked up. Of course it did. Did that mean someone else had this number now? Would he have kept it all of this time? Surely that'd be too dangerous... But this was Mickey he was thinking of... His Mickey who loved him, who did anything for him, who wanted to live a life on the run with him... who was let down when Ian didn't go... The tone rang out, signaling for him to begin the message.

 

“Fuck, um... I'm sorry I missed you, man... It's uh... It's been a while.” Ian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, scolding himself inside for how stupid he sounded right now. “Anyway, I uh—I miss you... I wish you were here. Um, call me if you can. If not, I get it. But uh... yeah, things are weird around here... Just uh... If this is still your number, call me back. Let me know you're okay...” he exhaled roughly. “I love you, bye.”

 

He had to pinch his eyes to stop the tears from falling. Why was he crying?

 

That was a stupid question. He fucking knew why. Guilt. And loneliness. And regret. Even a sense of helplessness if it wasn't too melodramatic to say. He didn't realize until this very moment how desperately he really wanted this man back. But now that he'd realized it, he needed to put those feelings away. Mickey wasn't coming back. And he probably would never call him back so Ian wasn't going down to Mexico, either.

 

It was time to move on.

Ian kicked the fence the lesbians had put up separating their property from the little plot of land they used to use for the pool. It felt good to let out some of the aggression so he kicked it again. And again. He was about to start punching, too when the phone vibrated in his palm. Almost like a living thing shuddering for breath. Ian's heart dropped to his stomach.

 

_No way..._

 

He raised the phone to his ear and waited.

 

“Miss me, huh?” Ian released a really embarrassing sound in place of returning the greeting.

 

“Mickey?” Ian finally choked out.

 

“Yeah.” He didn't sound too happy about the confirmation.

 

“Oh God... Mick, I really never expected you to actually call back! I'd just—” Ian released what could be described as a laugh... but there was absolutely nothing amusing about what was happening here. Ian couldn't even exactly place what he was feeling. He swallowed that reaction and forced himself to focus. “Look, Mick... About... About Mexico?”

 

“You mean how you strung me along for three days before leaving me at the Mexican border?” Ian flinched again.

 

“Yeah, that... Umm... I just really wanted to explain-”

 

“Don't bother, man.” Ian's heart stopped.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean...” He exhaled again, slowly. “I was pissed, and hurt for a while... Still kinda am, but I know why you did it. And as much as I want to be pissed at you... I feel like I can't.” This shocked Ian. He felt his brow furrow as an automatic response to his confusion.

 

“Really?” Mickey hummed in agreement. “I mean... I'm glad you're not pissed, but I've gotta ask why...” Ian wandered over to the stairs and took a seat, settling in for what he hoped was a nice long conversation.

 

“Well... Even though I didn't want your money, it did help. So you setting me up with some help was nice. And let's be honest, Gallagher, you lost your south side touch.” Ian laughed, recalling his delayed reactions when Damon had tried to rob the convenience store and Ian had driven the runaway car—almost allowing them to get shot by driving a little too gently. “So... It would have been amazing to have you with me... But how long would it have lasted before you hated me for bringing you along?”

 

“Has it been crazy?” Ian kind of hoped yes, so that he didn't abandon Mickey for no reason, but he also hoped no because he almost would rather feel like shit for abandoning him for no reason than have Mickey face danger.

 

“Well... I wouldn't say crazy. I just have to move around a lot—can't afford to put down any roots. And your cushy regular payin' job ass probably wouldn't have liked that.” Ian smirked.

 

“Hey! Fuck you, man.” He couldn't help but laugh. He heard Mickey's breathy laugh and it filled him up. “I uh... I miss you. It's good to hear you.” Ian stumbled through his words, remembering that time he visited Mickey in Juvie back when they'd first started fucking. Ian had known he liked Mickey even then, but if he'd known what would come of it? Ian didn't think he'd have ever believed this would happen. Mickey exhaled deeply.

 

“Did your boyfriend not work out or somethin?” Mickey almost growled. Ian collapsed into himself on the stairs. He knew this was going to happen. “Bed gettin' cold?” Mickey didn't quite sound as fiery as he was sure he wanted to, which was slightly reassuring... but not by much. Mickey was pissed, but it was wavering and Ian knew it was only because of their circumstances that Mickey was able to let go of any resentment. But this still had to be discussed.

 

“Mick...”

 

“No. You miss me, huh? Why has it taken you so long to try to call?”

 

“I didn't want to put you in danger! Plus, I didn't even know if you still had this number!”

 

“It's a risk, but yeah, I kept it.” There was a tense silence. “I never thought you'd call.” He admitted. “But I wanted to keep it open if you wanted to.”

 

“I'm glad you did,” Ian replied eagerly. Mickey huffed into the phone. Ian inhaled to stop himself from getting emotional. He understood Mickey's conflict, but wished he would make up his damn mind. Was he mad or was he happy that he called? “But if you don't want me to call anymore, I get it...” There was another silence.

 

“Uhh, no. No. It's just... Christ—”

 

“What?” Ian urged. Mickey choked out a laugh.

 

“I want you to even though you probably shouldn't... You tend to get me in trouble, Gallagher.” He didn't say it angrily, though. He said it with affection. Still, the words punched Ian in the gut because they were true. He did cause a lot of problems for Mickey.

 

“I know... You know I don't mean to—”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Mickey interrupted. Ian waited for him to say something else, standing up from the porch, feeling the need to pace. He wandered back into the backyard where he traced circles in the open space.

 

“I um... I've been thinking... A lot. And... Well, did you see that they—”

 

“Called off the search? Yeah. I have.” Mickey interrupted again, his voice sounded tight.

 

“And?” Ian prompted.

 

“And... I don't know, Ian.” His heart grew wings when Mickey called him by his first name. It wasn't a common occurrence and there was something so incredible about hearing his name on Mickey's lips.

 

“Come on... There's smaller risk, I could go legally and you have your stuff... We could pick up right where you wanted to be.” Mickey exhaled again.

 

“Christ, Ian...”

 

“We could! Look, I've been doing some research and with my EMT training and experience I could probably find work easy. It'd be honest money and...” Ian slowed his roll, realizing that the “Christ, Ian,” hadn't necessarily sounded positive. “But uh... You probably don't want me there anymore...”

 

“Well, actually, that's not the problem... I may have done something stupid.” Ian's brows furrowed.

 

“Okay?”

 

“Like, monumentally stupid...”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I still haven't decided if I'm going to go through with it.” Mickey drawled. If Ian didn't know better, he'd say Mickey was taunting him, baiting him.

 

“Go through with what? I mean, if you don't want me to follow you, that's fine. Just say so.”

 

“Well, the thing is even if you wanted to follow me there, you wouldn't find me.” Ian stopped his pacing.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Turn around...”

 

He did. He whirled around, phone clamped to his ear. He was about to ask Mickey what fucking game he was playing when he saw him... Coming out from the shadow cast by the side of the house. What the fuck was he doing here?!

 

“Mick?” Ian breathed, refusing to believe what he was seeing. Mickey kept walking forward and closed his phone, tucking it in his front pocket. Ian was too frozen to do anything but stare and put his own phone away as Mickey continued walking up to him. Mickey was wearing jeans and a hoodie, a hat drawn over his ears again, like he was definitely trying to blend in. He walked with the same swagger he always had and Ian's heart dropped straight to the ground as he took in the fact that Mickey was here.

 

“No fucking way...” Ian breathed as Mickey finally reached him. Mickey stopped about three feet away and tucked his hands into his pockets, though the way he looked at him made it appear like he desperately wanted to touch him.

 

“You said you wanted me here... And fuck if I can say no to you for anything, Gallagher.” He tried to make it sound dismissive, but there was fear in his eyes. Fear of what? Rejection?

 

Ian reached out his arm, looking to touch Mickey... make sure he wasn't dreaming. His fingertips brushed Mickey's cheek and as soon as his warmth touched Mickey's chilled cheek, Mickey's eyes closed in what almost looked like relief.

 

“How?” Ian sighed as he took a step closer, cupping Mickey's cheek. Mickey accepted the affection gratefully, a small smile tugging at his lips, eyes still closed. He raised his own hand and cupped it over Ian's fingers, holding his hand close.

 

“Does that really matter? I'm here...” Ian felt tears building behind his eyes.

 

“Yeah...” He sighed and cupped Mickey's other cheek, taking another step closer. “Are you safe, though? Did anyone see you?” He wasn't even fully aware of speaking, too enraptured by Mickey's beautiful face and the fact that he was chilly. Mickey must have been waiting outside for a while.

 

“No, it was pretty easy. Especially now that the search is called off.” Ian ran his fingers over the side of Mickey's face as though checking to make sure he was still in one piece. “Still gotta be careful, obviously but... I figured if you still wanted this...” Ian released a breath, a small smile pulling at his lips as raw emotion washed over him. He wanted to kiss him so badly. His eyes focused on Mickey's lips. As though noticing Ian's attention on them, Mickey pulled on his bottom lip with his teeth to wet it with his tongue. Something that always drove Ian crazy. He lowered his head down to Mickey's and waited for him to object. When he didn't, he pressed his lips to Mickey's and sighed a breath of relief at the tender pressure there.

 

The first time Mickey had kissed him, Ian had known he would get addicted to Mickey's mouth. He had really known it even before then, because he was always getting distracted by fantasies of that mouth, but the kiss solidified his addiction. In this moment, Ian realized how desperately he missed Mickey's kisses. He wrapped his hand around the back of Mickey's neck and deepened the kiss, Mickey pulling himself closer, setting his hands on Ian's hips as they kissed. Ian's body reacted automatically and fiercely, which was why he broke the kiss off when he did, far before either of them were ready.

 

“Fuck...” They breathed together. Ian lowered his forehead to Mickey's and smiled at him, relishing the warm glow building in his stomach and chest.

 

“I missed you.” Ian said again. Mickey's shoulders slumped, his brow furrowing against Ian's forehead.

 

“I missed you too, man.” He finally returned. Ian cupped Mickey's face and kissed him again, gently. Mickey stood there, allowing himself to be kissed. Ian's fingers went instinctually to Mickey's hair, but was blocked by the line of the hat. He just teased the few strands at the very edge with the tips of his fingers. Mickey hummed and kissed Ian back.

 

When they finally broke apart, Ian took a good look at Mickey's face. He looked sad more than anything, which inspired a sadness in Ian. Suddenly, though, he noticed something curling from the top of Mickey's hat. A shock of what looked like blonde hair?!

 

“Mick?” Ian choked out as he slowly pulled the hat down. Mickey smirked, but it wasn't a happy or smug smirk, it was one of slight embarrassment; the kind of look one makes while clinging to dignity and preparing for the ultimate teasing. “Oh my god, what did you do?!” Ian cried, a smile stretching his mouth as he held back laughter but couldn't help the surprise.

 

“Uh, yeah... I had a close call after I got there so I bleached it.”

 

“Well it wasn't the fucking sun, shit!” Ian laughed. Mickey grabbed the hat back and went to tug it back down over his head when Ian stopped him.

 

“No! It looks good it's just... weird.” Mickey huffed and pulled the hat back on anyway. Ian couldn't help his goofy smile at Mickey's grumpiness. It was just like old times. As though no time had passed. That's how it always seemed to go with them. No matter the circumstances, no matter how much time had passed, they always picked up right where they left off and were teenagers again.

 

“What else changed about you, huh? Piercings, new tattoos?” Mickey finally laughed and playfully punched Ian's shoulder.

 

“Wouldn't you like to know, huh?” Ian's brows rose at the flirtation. He would actually, he really would. But they needed to talk first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late! Surprise anniversary beach trip yanked me from my computer for a couple of days!  
> <3 <3
> 
> Don't forget to tip your fanfic writer! :)  
> We accept Kudos and constructive comments! <3


	5. Cor ad cor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Ian have a much needed heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning :)

Mickey was back. Ian couldn’t believe it. He finally had the love of his life back and he was so thrilled he could barely contain himself. They lounged in the backyard of the Gallagher home watching what little of the stars shone through the light pollution.

With Mickey's hat securely pulled over his newly bleached blonde hair, Ian was ready to focus. They seriously needed to talk. Too much had happened with too little discussion. And he knew he had some explaining to do.

They had stared at each other for a long time, neither knowing where to go, what to say, what to do. Mickey broke first and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Ian took the pack from him when he didn't recognize his usual Marlboro.

“Had to switch?” Ian asked, handing the pack back after Mickey lit up. Mickey shrugged, handing it over and turned to make his way to the porch. He took a seat leaning against the bannister, choosing the cold ground facing away from the house rather than the wooden stairs for some reason. Ian just parked it right beside him, taking a drag of the Mexican brand. _Not bad._

They sat in silence for a while, splitting the cigarette and looking at the sky. They couldn't see as many stars, but this moment still reminded Ian of that night on the blanket in Texas.

“I’m sorry for… well, for everything.” Ian blurted out, interrupting the contented silence. Mickey turned his head to him.

“Everything?” Mickey baited. Ian rolled his eyes and sat up, turning to the other man.

“Everything, asshole. I was a dick to you when you tried to get me on my meds, never thanked you for everything you did for me, and broke up with you… I just… It’s been bothering me since Mexico.” Mickey stared at him a moment, but looked away because regardless of how far he’d come, emotions still freaked him out, especially his own.

“Everyone always shits on you and I never thought I’d be one of those people–but… there it is. If someone ever trashed you, I never defended you, never corrected anyone who had the wrong idea about you. At first, I even believed those things myself…” Ian drifted off, worried about what else he might say. At some point he may say enough to get Mickey to change his mind about picking back up. Mickey had laid back in the grass and was gazing at the sky in silence, clearly listening but trying not to reveal any emotion. “I think I just… resented you caring so much and I couldn’t feel that way back because of the stupid mood stabilizers. After my meds balanced… And I started to feel again… I noticed how much I missed you and got angry again because you were in prison and with everything I’d done–the bipolar, the meds, running away, breaking up with you–I was sure I’d lost any chance at being with you.”

Mickey stared on in silence, absorbing Ian’s words. Ian almost kept going just to fill the gap, but decided to give Mickey a minute. For a while, Mickey just watched the sky and sucked on the cigarette. After a long moment, Ian took the cigarette from between his lips, smiling when Mickey grimaced.

“I never believed it was over. Even with that bullshit of a visit in the joint… I never gave up on you, making myself believe you hadn’t either. The bipolar had fucked you up so much… It didn’t make a difference to me, of course, I still love you all the same but it was like fucked if you did fucked if you didn’t with the meds. At least off the meds you wanted me, loved me. We still _talked_ we still joked around and acted like...” Mickey looked away for a second. He was getting sappy (at least by Mickey's standards) and he would probably never be able to get to a point where that would be acceptable. “With the meds, you at least wouldn’t cheat on me or go around stealing suitcases one day, laying in bed for a week the next. But then you’d act like I didn’t matter.” Mickey watched Ian when he said this, probably anticipating the wince Ian gave at that. “I was okay. I knew it was the meds, but I still couldn’t believe that you broke up with me. After all we’d fucking been through, you’d just throw me away because of meds you’d end up taking anyway!” His tone reflected the anger. He had to pause to control it.

Ian shrank back, ashamed of everything he’d done, and also afraid of how this tirade would end. It hadn't escaped his notice that he'd broken up with Mickey because he didn't want to take his meds, but he'd hoped it would escape Mickey's that he ended up taking them anyway... Something had just snapped about a week later because depression started sinking in and finally Fiona convinced him that the meds would make him better.

Mickey sniffed and crushed his eyelids behind his fingers, wiping moisture away before either of them could notice there was any.

“I just couldn’t wrap my head around it, like… where’d I go wrong? Was it the bipolar talking? The meds? Your mom?” He shook his head sadly. “I think it was the shock that kept me holding on to you. I hadn’t lost you because in my mind there was no way we had broken up—it just couldn’t be. It was like a nightmare that would go away as long as I stayed awake, or really as long as I didn’t see you trying not to look at me or… fuck. ” Ian looked at him then, struggling with his emotion. Ian was about to speak when Mickey sprang up into a sitting position and his strong voice rang out. “I’m not doing this in-between shit anymore, Gallagher. I mean it. Either we are together, or we’re not. You might laugh at the idea of us getting married but I knew soon after coming out that you were it for me. If we didn’t work out, I’d fuck around, sure, but love someone else or settle down with someone else?” He shook his head for emphasis. “Besides, we don’t have to get married if it’s not what you want. That part has never mattered. What matters is knowing where we stand and committing. We don’t need a fucking piece of paper to say how we feel.” Mickey sighed because there he was getting overly emotional again. He pulled the pack back out of his back pocket and lit a new cigarette. After the first determined pull, Mickey made intense eye contact with Ian, holding his case fiercely.

“You pushed me to do a lot of things, so now, I’m pushing you. I’m only doing this again if you commit. It doesn’t mean we have to go down to city hall today or ever, really. But I ain't getting my hopes up again for you to throw me aside _again_.” He was breathing heavy and Ian could only stare. Mickey looked scared. Even though he said he wasn’t putting himself out there again, the irony was he just did. If Ian rejected him now, Mickey would be obliterated. The good thing would be it would be for the last time, and the bad thing would be… It would be the last time… but at least he would know. Mickey faced away from him, focusing intently on the end of the cigarette as though he suddenly found it fascinating and the conversation suddenly bored him.

"So, you in or out, Gallagher?” Ian just stared at him.

"There was a time,” Ian finally murmured, “living with you, Svet, and Yevgeny that I knew we would get married. I dreamed about it; you and me, kids, soccer games and parent teacher nights at school, the whole nine…” He went silent, the unmentioned “but” hanging between them.

"And now?” Mickey asked, the inflection in his voice giving away his rising hope, and anxiety.

"Now it’s still what I want. I didn’t mean to mock the idea that day… I guess I just never expected that was what you wanted, especially if I was going to refuse medication–which at the time I was determined to do. On my meds, I have a stable job and I’m still saving for a future and–"

"And you don’t want a fugitive fucking your life up, I fucking get it.” Mickey scoffed. He stood and started pacing, like he was torn between staying to hear Ian out and running as far as fast as humanly possible. “Is this your fucking hobby or something? See how far you can drag Mickey back in then how fast you can fucking destroy him, then how fast you can reel him back in again?”

"What? Mick, no–”

"Then why do you keep fucking doing this to me?"

"Doing what? I haven’t said anything yet!"

"Oh, you’ve said plenty.” Mickey scoffed. “You honestly mean to tell me that you talking about how great you’ve been doing without me was going to lead to you committing?"

"If you’d give me a second, yeah!” Ian cried, jumping to his feet. “Listen. I’ve put my shit together but it never would have happened if you didn’t get me started. I’ve grown a lot and I give a lot of credit to that year with you putting up with my shit and making me take my meds and… everything. Now that I’ve got my shit in order, it’s your turn and I want to be there to help you with it. But how long do you really think you can stay in the south side before being caught or dragged back into the same illegal shit? I’m trying to think ahead and think realistically here, that’s all.” Mickey brushed his hand over his face and sighed.

"Why didn’t you just fucking say that then, asshole?”

“You didn’t give me a fucking chance!” Ian snapped. They held a burning gaze before Mickey turned away, taking another drag of his cigarette. He breathed the smoke out roughly, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to hide his emotions. Leaning against the wall of the porch, he took another long drag.

“I’d thought about all of that… How long I’d be able to stay here before getting caught. Then where would I move? How long will ‘free’ really be free? Wondering if you would come with me for real this time…”

“You gonna be pissed if I want to stay here until I have my shit in order? Until I have a plan?” Mickey sighed again and leaned his head back against the beam.

“Like… Like long distance?”

“If that’s what you want–”

“Of course it’s not what I fucking want!” Mickey snapped. Ian let him calm down, refusing to feed his frustration. “You already left me at a border once…” He pointed out.

“But what if I still commit? We can commit and still wait. I just don’t want to backtrack with this job. I have a good chance of getting out of the south side and if I have to stay here longer so you can come with me?” Ian shrugged, “then so be it.” Mickey finally met Ian’s gaze.

“Say what you mean.” Mickey demanded.

“Yes, at some point I want our white picket fence, two kids, happily-ever-fucking-after ending. It’s just not the right time right now. We need to figure out how to keep you off the radar so one day we can go to the courthouse and make it official. For right now though, we each have to do what we have to do. The most I can give you right now is a roof over your head and food for you at the table while you’re here and promising to be faithful to you. I’ve tried to give you up Mick… but no one has measured up.” Mickey was silent after Ian’s impassioned speech. He finished off the cigarette and extinguished the butt against the support beam of the porch. He peeled himself away from the wood and walked over to Ian.

“I tried to give you up too. So many fucking times, even before Mexico. I never gave up… but I did try. Why can’t I let you go, dammit?” Mickey snarled and grabbed at Ian's shirt, clenching the fabric between his tattooed fingers. Ian’s heart faltered. Mickey exhaled sharply and looked up at Ian, pulling him in with his fists.

“You want to?” Ian asked nervously. Mickey shrugged.

“Sometimes.” He replied simply.

“You want to right now?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He snapped. Ian couldn’t help his shy grin as Mickey's hands relaxed but didn't move away. It was the look he always acquired when Mickey tried too hard to act hard-ass, but Ian alway saw right through it.

“I love you, Mick.” It felt so good to say it, and he could hardly believe that he could. Too much time had been lost for them, and Ian didn’t want any more regrets. Mickey stared at him, wary.

“I love you, too.” He finally replied. Ian grabbed Mickey’s hand and pulled him to him. Ian caressed his face and kissed him. Mickey kissed back and for a moment, Ian thought he tasted tears. He didn’t open his eyes to check, though, allowing Mickey some privacy with his emotions. Mickey reached one hand up to cup Ian’s neck and brought the other to his waist, drawing him closer.

“So this is your final answer?” Mickey asked anxiously. “We’re together and this is the final time?” Ian smiled and nodded.

“I know we have to figure out what to do with you soon, but tonight let’s focus on us and being together,” Ian suggested.

“What kind of guy do you take me for? Think I’ll put out on the first date?” Mickey joked, feigning offense.

“I mean it’s up to you… But it has been half a year without me, and…” Ian pressed his hips, and growing arousal, into Mickey, “I guess I hoped you missed me as much as I missed you.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to Mickey’s throat. “And everyone just happens to be out of the house tonight, so we wouldn’t even have to be quiet…” Mickey’s brow arched at this. That had been the best part about their road trip; being able to just enjoy each other–no limits, no barriers–true freedom to love each other openly.

“You’re starting to sound desperate, Gallagher.” Mickey teased, wrapping his arms around the redhead in an embrace.

“Ah, damn. Can’t make it too easy for you, you’ll lose interest.” Mickey smirked and drew Ian in as he started to back away. He kissed the redhead softly, stroking his neck in the way he knew he liked.

The men stumbled up the porch stairs, tearing off each other's jackets as they plowed through the door, lips still connected. Once they were each free of their jackets, Mickey cupped Ian's face, and Ian dragged Mickey closer by the waist. Ian leaned down just a bit to wrap his hands around the backs of Mickey's thighs, and without warning picked him up. Mickey couldn't help the startled grunt as he wrapped his legs around Ian's waist.

 _That's new..._ Mickey's face seemed to say as he smirked and wrapped his arms over Ian's shoulders, fingers trailing over his back and through his hair. Ian could feel Mickey's semi against his stomach and grinned into the kiss. He raced up to his bedroom, careful not to trip up the stairs or hit anything in the hall. Mickey meanwhile was kissing Ian's neck, biting intermittently and being an asshole about it. He was trying to distract him, and now was _not_ the time.

“argh.. Mick!” Ian groaned and slammed him against the wall just outside his bedroom. Mickey huffed at the startling connection to the wall and instinctually pressed his hips against Ian. Ian tucked his head against Mickey's neck and groaned as he swore he could feel Mickey's erection swell against his stomach. Mickey released his legs from around Ian's waist and trailed down his body, Ian backing up just enough to give the other man space to slide down. Mickey turned them around, slamming Ian against the wall and dropped to his knees.

He ripped at Ian's belt buckle but didn't bother undoing the whole thing, just satisfied to have it open, and popped the buttons on Ian's jeans, tearing them down his legs. He accidentally took his boxers down with them and Mickey groaned.

Ian pulled his shirt up and over his head, throwing it god knows where down the hall. Mickey's breath got noticeably deeper as he took Ian in. Ian was already ridiculously hard and was so ready to go, but Mickey had other plans. He seemed to be weighing Ian in his hand, comparing this experience to anything he had remembered—possibly fantasized about while they were separated. He slowly stroked him and seemed to relish the experience as he looked up through his long lashes. Ian pulled the hat off and ran his fingers through the blonde locks. He had to admit he missed the black hair. But he knew that Mickey had to do _something_ to alter his appearance or he'd just make it too easy to get caught.

“You don't mind it?” Mickey asked, the tone low and giving his arousal away. Ian watched as Mickey played with him, running his mouth over the base, still slowly stroking. Ian ran his fingers through his hair again and smirked.

“It's different. But I'll get used to it.” Mickey didn't look convinced, but he also didn't look like he much cared for the answer at that very moment; his priority clearly being to please Ian. He lovingly licked at the tip before taking him all the way in his mouth. It had been so long that Ian had almost forgotten what being blown by Mickey Milkovich had been like. Almost.

The memory certainly didn't do any justice, though. Mickey gave head like he was born to do it, like it was the only thing he wanted to do with his life. He set a steady pace and groaned deep, the sound reverberating down Ian's shaft and through his core. He threw his head back and tightened his grip in Mickey's hair. Mickey went down as far as he could and stroked the underside of him with his tongue. Ian moaned at the sensation and when Mickey popped off, Ian pulled him up and kissed him hard.

“We'll have more time for that later.” Ian said fiercely, grabbing Mickey around the waist and kissing him hard. He stepped out of the cloth pooled around his ankles (he had luckily ignored shoes in his hurry to talk to Mickey so had gone outside in just socks) and pulled him into his bedroom, sliding the screen to his bedroom closed. Mickey kissed him hard and started unbuckling his own belt. Ian took up the job for him and sank to his knees in front of him. Mickey tore off his shirt and looked down at Ian expectantly. Ian pulled Mickey's pants and boxers down in a similar fashion to how Mickey had just done to him, but put him in his mouth with very little grace in his hurry and excitement. Mickey bit his lip and threw his head back as Ian set to work. He had been dreaming of this moment for _so_ fucking long, and he hated himself for not allowing the time to enjoy it... but Mickey was back. They would have plenty of time to rediscover each other. For right now, he needed him, and he needed him soon.

Mickey tightened his hold in Ian's hair and sighed in time with Ian's rhythm until he released him. Mickey groaned in both disappointment and relief. Ian pushed lightly on Mickey's hip bone to guide him to the bed. Mickey lay down but Ian didn't move from his position on his knees. He pulled himself forward for better access and started placing loving little bites and kisses up Mickey's incredible thighs, skating over his erection. Mickey lay flat, choosing to absorb the pleasure rather than enjoy a show. Ian was just fine with that.

Ian mouthed over the curve of Mickey's cock, and teased with a leisurely lick, moving south and planting kisses against his sac, the insides of his thighs. Mickey's hands traveled down to meet Ian's shoulders and one hand twisted in Ian's hair.

“Ian...” Mickey groaned as Ian started lightly dragging his fingertips against Mickey's hot and sensitive skin.

“You don't even understand... I've been dreaming about this for months...” Ian groaned, taking his time at kissing down Mickey's abdomen, past his navel and down to his erection. This was what they knew; passion, love, physical connection that triggers an unparalleled emotional connection. Ian sank too low for Mickey's hands to reach and he had to fist his fingers in the sheets instead.

Ian smirked, anticipating Mickey's reaction as he lifted those gorgeous thighs and set to work. After he had left Mickey at the border, he'd regretted not giving Mickey at least a little of that “plan.” Well, here was his chance. Mickey punched out a gasp as Ian licked at him, mostly just teasing to start with.

Mickey sighed, “C'mon man... It's been too long for this.”

But Ian kept going. Sure, there would be enough time for blowjobs, but Mickey still needed to be prepped and Ian had all of the time in the world to play as long as it was leading to the earth-shattering end result.

Ian pointed his tongue and dove in, dragging a powerful groan from Mickey.

“Fuck!” Ian smirked and teased the outer muscle before entering him again. Mickey's fingers fisted in the sheets. He pressed his hips up and Ian followed, never wavering in his ministrations.

“Christ, Ian...” Mickey groaned, thrusting his hips back on Ian. Ian hummed and finally backed away. He stood and watched Mickey catch his breath on his mattress. Ian couldn't get over it. Mickey was here in his bed...

His eyes caught the Ian Galager tattoo on Mickey's chest and his heart sank, suddenly remembering their last night under the stars when he'd forced himself to keep his eyes trained on Mickey's face. He would have to do that again it looked like. Mickey scooted himself up to the top of Ian's bed and watched him, absently stroking himself as Ian watched.

“The fuck you looking at?” Mickey asked breathily. Ian smirked and opened the side table drawer for a condom and the lube.

“Nothin'.” Ian breathed and climbed on top of Mickey. Mickey raised his legs to frame Ian's hips, caging him in. Heat erupted in Ian's core as he felt them meld together. His head dropped between is shoulders as he absorbed the fiery pleasure from them even just laying against each other in this intimate way. Mickey ground his hips up to meet Ian's, their erections rubbing together in an absolutely sinful way. Ian groaned and laid kisses against Mickey's throat in response. Mickey sat up forcing Ian to sit back on his knees.

“We gotta get this going, man.” Mickey groaned as he reached for the lube Ian had discarded on the side of the bed close to the wall. Ian's brows rose.

“Got somewhere to fuckin' be?” Ian teased. Normally, Mickey would have laughed. But he was too far gone to join in the teasing.

“Been too fuckin' long,” Mickey stated simply and locked his lips against Ian's. Ian hummed as his eyes slid closed and he took the lube from Mickey's hand. With practiced hands, Ian prepped him while continuing to kiss him. Mickey leaned back on his hands but remained in a mostly seated position as Ian prepped him, one leg bent to give Ian a more accessible angle and spreading his other leg wide. Ian's chest swelled with pride as Mickey's desperation for him stroked his ego.

He pressed one lubed finger inside of him and Mickey broke the kiss to swear under his breath. He arched his hips off the bed to give Ian an even better angle. Ian smirked at Mickey's reaction and kissed Mickey's neck again as he fingered Mickey open. When he added a second lubed finger, Mickey dropped to lay flat on the bed with a punched out, “ _fuck!”_ Mickey slowly rotated on his side, pushing back against Ian's fingers, biting his lip as Ian explored him. Mickey clutched the pillow under his head and continued rotating until he was laying mostly on his front, his knees just barely pulled up under his torso. Ian kissed the base of his shoulder.

“You ready?” Ian asked.

“Is that even a fucking question? Get the fuck on me.” Mickey snapped, grinding back for emphasis. Ian chuckled to himself and withdrew his fingers to Mickey's apparent disappointment. As Ian rolled the condom on, Mickey prepared himself for what was about to happen. He was on his elbows and knees, chest only slightly below his hips, staring back at Ian—watching him with desperate and lust hazed eyes. Ian covered himself liberally with lube though the condom was already lubricated. The truth was he could have prepped Mickey better but when Mickey started shifting around, that meant it was time to get this show on the road.

As Ian pressed himself against Mickey's opening, he had to admit to himself that he was disappointed that this wasn't the love-making session he had dreamed about. Mickey wanted rough—or so his positioning indicated. And Ian was happy to give him that, he just had wanted to savor the moment a little more. But damn if he was in a position to deny Mickey anything or assert his wants over Mickey's right now. He was going to give this man anything he wanted because the way Ian saw it, he fucking owed him. And besides, if Ian's logic was that there was plenty of time for rough sex, Mickey's logic was probably that there were better times for love-making sessions.

He curved his fingers around one of Mickey's shoulders, the other hand gripping Mickey's hip. Mickey pushed back impatiently on Ian's tip, already trying to fuck himself on Ian. Ian released a groan at the vision—Mickey desperate for him... to the extent that he was ready to dominate from under him.

He finally decided to just give the man what he wanted, and slid inside.

The experience was unlike any that Ian had encountered before... Even with Mickey... He felt like he was coming home, and being welcomed with a warm hug. Mickey keened below him as Ian took him slowly but decidedly.

“ _Fuck! Ian..._ ” Mickey breathed. His head dropped between his shoulders and Ian stared at the line of Mickey's neck. “Fuck... _fuck!”_ Mickey apparently was feeling what Ian felt... What was probably the most emotionally intense session they'd ever had. And that was fucking saying something. Mickey ground back on Ian, eagerly taking all of him in one go. Once Ian was fully seated inside of him, Mickey's back arched and his chest fell to the surface of the mattress. Ian released Mickey's shoulder and dragged his fingertips across Mickey's sensitive back trailing down to Mickey's other hip.

“You good?” Ian asked. Mickey ground back against Ian's hips and nodded.

“So fuckin' good—” Mickey groaned. Ian chuckled a little since that wasn't technically what he'd asked, though the answer got the message across. He pulled back and snapped his hips forward, pushing a sharp sigh from Mickey. Mickey's head was resting against the mattress now but his ass remained proudly in the air. Ian settled into a steady, thorough rhythm and Mickey's sounds in response did not disappoint. He ground back on Ian and after a few minutes, rose up from the mattress to grab hold of the headboard. He turned to look at Ian, eyes blown out and bottom lip gripped between his teeth. Ian grabbed his shoulder and thrust especially hard into him, a booming moan exploding from Mickey's throat in response.

“Fuck!” Mickey screamed. _Actually_ screamed! It was very uncommon for Ian to elicit such a response from him so a surge of pride paraded through his veins and he redoubled his efforts. Mickey used the leverage from the headboard to grind back hard against Ian. Mickey actually fucking laughed as he worked with Ian. “Fuck, man... I'm not gonna last—” he broke off with another moan. Ian folded over Mickey's back and started kissing at the shell of Mickey's ear, the sensitive skin of his neck. Mickey leaned into it as they continued working together.

“I missed you so fuckin' much, Mick.” Mickey turned his head to look at Ian. Though he was still getting fucked and seemed to still be loving it, there was sadness in his eyes.

“Missed you too, Ian.” Ian slowed his thrusts because he wanted to kiss Mickey so desperately but Mickey kept going. “I swear to Christ, Gallagher, if you stop right now I'm going to rip your fuckin' tongue outta your head!” He let his head fall between his shoulders as he continued fucking back on Ian. Ian laughed and did one better, he withdrew completely. Mickey almost sounded like he was in pain, he was so pissed.

“ _Fuck you, Galla—”_ Ian flipped Mickey over and slipped right back in, silencing Mickey as he breathed out a moan. “The fuck was that for, Gallagher?” He demanded as he leaned up on his elbow to grind hard against Ian as he started up his thrusts again.

“You didn't want to stop, I wanted to kiss you.” Ian explained and finally leaned down to do just that. He and Mickey practically swallowed each other with their kisses as Mickey chased his orgasm. Ian wasn't going to touch him unless Mickey begged. He wanted to see if he could still drive this man over the edge without any added assistance. Mickey was leaning on one forearm, his other arm curved over Ian's shoulder, fingers playing with his hair as they kissed. Ian pulled one leg over his hip and ground down slow and hard, eliciting a drawn out moan from Mickey who broke the kiss to drop his head back.

“ _Fuck...”_ Ian smirked with pride at the absolutely sinful fucked-out look on Mickey's face. “ _Goddamn it...”_ Mickey groaned and started speeding up the pace.

“You close?” Ian asked, lowering himself so their chests were pressed together. Mickey nodded, not able to do much more. Ian kissed his neck, burying his face against him as he worked desperately to send Mickey over the edge. A pressure was building in his core and Ian knew it wouldn't take long before it would spill over the edge. With a sudden burst of energy, Mickey pushed Ian to sit back on his heels and Ian pulled him up so Mickey was straddling Ian's lap.

They were nose to nose, chest to chest, arms wrapped completely around each other. Mickey ground down on each of Ian's thrusts. They were playing at an amazing place inside of Mickey who couldn't do much more than pant against Ian's neck and they worked that spot for all they were worth.

“ _Fuck.... God... Dammit!”_ Mickey huffed against Ian. Ian chuckled a little and kissed the shell of Mickey's ear. Mickey turned to kiss him for real when his release came barreling through him, unexpected. Mickey dug his nails into Ian's shoulder and scalp as he rode Ian through his orgasm.

“ _Fuck...”_ Mickey said again. Ian was panting against Mickey's chest, waiting for only a second.

“You good?” Ian asked. Mickey looked down at Ian and kissed him hard before nodding. Ian then lay Mickey out in front of him and set a quick but shallow pace for his own orgasm. He tried to avoid the more sensitive parts inside of Mickey so as not to jolt him. Mickey wrapped his arms around Ian's shoulders again, fingers fisting in his hair or clutching at his back. Ian kissed at Mickey's neck as he chased his release. Mickey's cum on their stomachs squished a little as Ian worked so hard to make this quick. The sound made them both laugh and finally Ian pulled back so he could just drive into Mickey fast and hard. Poor Mickey was all sensation and Ian hoped he wasn't hurting him. Though the sounds coming out of Mickey sounded like anything but painful.

Finally Ian reached his climax and he thrust in to the hilt as his orgasm hit.

“Fuck...” Ian panted against Mickey's chest. He rested there a moment and Mickey let him, basking in their post-coital glow.

A few minutes passed with Mickey absently running his hands through Ian's red strands and Ian gathering his breath against Mickey's chest. After he's caught his breath, he finally withdrew and kissed Mickey softly. Mickey smiled into the kiss and Ian's heart glowed at the thought that Mickey might be happy. He sat back on his heels and rolled off the condom, tying it off really quick before tossing it into the wastebasket in the corner of the room. He lay on his side to look at Mickey, who turned to do the same.

They were nose to nose, their hands touching where they cradled their heads.

“I love you, Mick.” Ian said it almost like a vow.

Mickey's eyes searched Ian's for a long moment.

“I love you, too.” Ian grinned and kissed him softly, running his fingers through the blonde strands.

“Are you sure I can stay here?” Mickey asked after a long moment of contented silence. The question was clearly something Mickey had been fretting about since they'd talked. Which was probably why it had taken him so long to come.

“Well... even if not, we're going to be together, okay?” Mickey looked a little scared, which was beyond uncharacteristic for him and it punched Ian in the stomach with how sad this look made him. Mickey seemed to have a million questions in those eyes, but he chose to nod and settle down into the mattress. Ian pulled the blanket over them and took Mickey in his arms. He rubbed on Mickey's back and ran his fingers through his hair until he heard Mickey's breath evening out, then he released a light snore or two before Ian finally allowed himself to fall asleep, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to tip your fanfic writer! :)  
> We accept Kudos and constructive comments! <3


	6. Collatio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eldest Gallaghers discover that Mickey is staying with them for a while. Naturally, there are some issues...

Ian awoke long before Mickey did. Not wanting to disturb him, he dressed quickly and stumbled downstairs where Fiona already sat at the dining room table, coffee in hand clipboard on the table.

 

Even though he hated it, he knew he still had to tell Fiona about Mickey. But it would definitely be more of a “telling” than “asking” situation.

 

“Didn’t see you last night. Stay out late?” She asked noncommittally, crossing something off on her clipboard.

 

“Turned in early actually.” Ian replied just as casually, slipping around the counter to grab a seat opposite her. She nodded. By the look on her face, he already knew what she was going to ask before she even opened her mouth to ask, so decided to open his own topic first.

 

“Since we’re paying rent now, I guess that means that our rooms are… well, ours.” Ian started. She glanced up again.

 

“I guess… But I don’t really know what you were prevented from doing with your room before you started paying ‘rent’.” She replied slowly.

 

“I um… I’m going to have a guest for a while…” Her brows perked up.

 

“Oh? You work things out with Trevor? I’da thought you’d move in with him but-”

 

“Not Trevor.” Ian interrupted. Her brows furrowed.

 

“Who?” She asked, and the disbelief almost offended him. As though Trevor was the only “guest” he could have in his life. Just as he was going to tell her Mickey was back, Debbie tore through the back door, Frannie on her hip, calling out for Liam.

 

“I told you twenty minutes ago, Liam!” Liam jumped down the stairs and rushed to the counter to grab his book back and pull it on as he raced out the door, Debbie darting back through.

 

"Wait, Liam!" Fiona called, digging in her pocket for some cash. Liam stomped back in the door and accepted the bill with a grin then ran back out.

 

“Bye Fiona! Bye Ian! I'll be home early tonight.”

 

“Bye Debs!” They said in unison.

 

“So, who will be stayin' with ya?” Fiona asked as Lip came marching through next. _Jesus Fucking Christ_ could a man not get a goddamned word in in this place?

 

Lip thoroughly distracted Fiona so Ian finally just gave up. He grabbed a cup of coffee and marched back up to his room, leaving his older siblings to discuss whatever had come up. Ian had enough on his mind so he didn't really care to know. He drank his coffee and sat on the edge of the bed beside Mickey, not wanting to disturb him by climbing back in behind him.

 

Mickey always looked uncharacteristically innocent in his sleep. Even with his “Fuck U-Up” tattoos blaring on his knuckles, the serenity on his face almost counteracted the effect of the tattoos. The newly bleached blonde hair completed the effect, giving him an almost halo in the morning sunlight. When Mickey was asleep, he looked like nothing touched him. Not Terry, not the cops, not Ian's fuck-ups, not the whole world.

 

Ian idly wondered what he was dreaming about, watching as his eyelashes beat lightly against his cheekbones as his eyes flicked behind his lids. He wanted to run his fingers over his cheek, through his hair. Double check that this was really happening and he really had him back.

 

But he didn't want to wake him. He looked dead asleep and he did not want to be on the receiving end of that rage if he were to wake up. Ian smiled, swallowing a laugh at the thought of Mickey's wrath whenever someone woke him up early without either coffee, sex, or at the very least a damned good reason.

 

The knock on the sliding door came so suddenly, Ian almost couldn't react in time. Lip stuck his face in Ian's bedroom just as Ian slammed his coffee mug down and burst back through the arch, pushing Lip into the hallway and slamming the door closed behind him.

 

“Who was that?” Lip asked. Ian groaned, not wanting to do this now. Fiona he felt he could talk down. He'd done it for years. But Lip? Lip wouldn't back down and would probably try to beat Mickey in his sleep if he was in the wrong mood.

 

“Kitchen.” Ian directed, gently turning Lip's shoulder toward the stairs.

 

Fiona was still at the dining room table going over some chart on that stupid clip board.

 

“Sit down.” Ian directed again. Lip groaned but took a seat beside Fiona. Fiona looked confused at Lip and then Ian. Ian sat two chairs away so he could look at them both without twisting his neck too much. Ian breathed deep and just took the plunge.

 

“Mickey is in my bed.” Ian stated plainly. Fiona nd Lip looked a combination of confused and outraged.

 

“Wha—?”

 

“Ian... What the—”

 

“I called him a week or so back and he showed up last night.” He explained further. His siblings sat in complete shock.

 

“Well, you've gotta get rid of him!” Fiona insisted. Ian rolled his eyes at the words, _rid of him_. As though Ian tracked in a stray cat with some sort of skin disease.

 

“Like, now!” Lip agreed. Ian sighed, averting his eyes sadly from his siblings. “Wait... You want him to stay? After everything that's happened?”

 

“What's happened?” Ian was genuinely confused.

 

“Uh... he broke out of prison after tryna kill Sammi, you ran off to Mexico and came back!" Fiona started, lifting fingers to start listing, "you've got your meds balanced, your work schedule set, Trevor back—” Fiona listed but was interrupted.

 

“Trevor is a friend.” Ian reminded.

 

“That doesn't matter! You have someone to keep you company, you don't need to go back to Mickey Milkovich." Ian bit his lip angrily. "Plus you haven't exactly been tryin' to find anyone new since you and Trevor decided to stay friends.” She pointed out. Ian leaned back in his chair and sighed.

 

"Keep me company... Like I'm some retired old coot who needs a friend to show up so I don't get lonely..." Ian muttered bitterly. Fiona rolled her eyes.

 

"You know what I mean. Maybe it's a good idea for you to not be in a relationship for a little while and at least while you're not dating you have a friend!" Fiona insisted. Ian decided to ignore all of the reasons why Fiona was the  _last_ person to be offering up relationship advice.

 

“I came back from the border because I thought that if I ran with him I would eventually resent him if and when shit hit the fan. I slowed him down so it would have been only a matter of time before I got him caught, and then I would be in prison almost as long. I'd hate him after that and I didn't want that.” Ian explained. “But that doesn't mean I was okay with the decision to leave him. I debated all the way on the bus ride home and debated some more over the past few months.”

 

Lip shook his head angrily.

 

“What?” Ian demanded.

 

“He's no good for you.” Lip answered without conviction. This must be something he's wanted to say for a long time but never had the balls. Ian inhaled deeply.

 

“I'm not going to fight with you about this.” He told both of them though a vein was popping in his temple from his irritation at Lip. “He's here and he's staying. He told me this was the last time we were trying to make this work and I'm not letting go. I've tried finding someone new... It never worked.”

 

“You've only dated two guys other than him.” Fiona reasoned. “Maybe you should date around a little bit first.”

 

“No.”

 

Fiona and Lip both exchanged glances at the certainty in Ian's voice.

 

“If he—”

 

“I'm going to work. Let's talk about this tonight.” Ian bounded up the stairs to his room without giving either of them the chance to argue further. He realized he was giving his siblings more time to work out solid arguments against him, but he really did need to get ready for work and he wanted Mickey to be there when the family discussed this. It just seemed wrong to talk about Mickey's fate in the family without him, as though he were a child.

 

Mickey was still peacefully asleep when he slid the door open. Blissfully ignorant of what the eldest Gallaghers were saying about him. Ian dressed quickly and watched Mickey most of the process, still unable to believe that he was there. He looked so beautiful and peaceful, and goddammit Ian was going to make sure he always slept as soundly every day for the rest of their lives.

 

He crouched beside Mickey's sleeping form and ran his fingers through his hair gently. Mickey stirred a little bit, brow furrowing and breath quickening, but he didn't jump to full wakefulness as he usually did. Ian's heart broke. _Oh God... How long has it been since Mickey had a secure place to sleep? Since he was able to fully let his guard down?_

 

“Hey, Mick. I'm going to work.” He whispered. Mickey nodded and grumbled something under his breath, but Ian couldn't catch it. He kissed his forehead and Mickey settled deeper into the pillow as Ian ran his fingers through his blonde hair one more time. “I love you.” He said it like a vow.

 

“Lo- ya too, man...” Mickey groaned and Ian had to bite his lip to keep him from laughing out loud. He kissed his forehead one more time, grabbed his phone and wallet off the bedside table and stepped into his shoes without tying the laces.

 

When he clomped back downstairs, Fiona and Lip were whispering furiously, but they paused when Ian settled on the fourth to bottom step to tie his shoes.

 

“Ian. We _really_ think this is a bad idea—” Fiona started.

 

“We will talk about it tonight when Mick is around to defend himself.”

 

“This isn't a trial!” Lip mocked.

 

“No, but if we are going to talk about him, he may as well be around to explain himself and hear whatever you guys have to say. Whatever you say behind his back you should be willing to say to his face.” His siblings both rolled their eyes.

 

“Ian. We aren't gossiping about him. This is a serious risk to the family whether he is meaning to or not. Pretty much all of us are old enough to be labeled as accomplices and can go to prison for this.”

 

“We won't.” Ian said simply.

 

“You don't know that, man!” Lip argued loudly. He was doing it on purpose and Ian knew it.

 

“Keep quiet. I don't think he's slept well in a while.” Ian said quietly as though indicating what speaking volume was recommended.

 

“Yeah, that's what fucking happens when you run from the cops, escape across the border and then come _back!_ ” Lip replied furiously, not quieting down.

 

“Guys... Please. Just let him sleep, I'll come home right after work, we can all talk about it as a family. I'm not losing him again.” Lip looked around the room as though he was searching for a sane person to back his play and Fiona just looked guilty. Ian finished prepping his uniform, tugged on his jacket and darted out the front door. “See ya, guys! I'll be back around seven!” Luckily it was a short shift today.

... 

... 

Lip charged up the stairs as soon as Ian was gone. Hell no he wasn't going to let that fucker seep back into Ian's life. He'd done enough to Ian's life. Ever since those guys got involved, Ian's life had been nothing but complications and heartbreak. And as his brother, he was fucking done with seeing it.

 

"Lip! Don't do it! Just let him sleep and we'll talk about it tonight!" Fiona called, chasing him up the stairs.

 

"Fuck no, I want this guy gone  _now."_ At Ian's door he paused a second, just long enough for Fiona to catch up. Lip hesitated for some reason... But he couldn't figure out why so he just threw the sliding door open and surged through, a shout burrowed in his chest begging for release.

 

"Milko-" His words died in his throat when he took in Mickey's sleeping form...

 

"He's fucking blonde now?" Fiona whispered furiously, confusion arching her brows. Lip furrowed his own brow as he took in Mickey's sleeping face. He looked relaxed. The most at peace he'd ever seen the thug before. The blonde hair, unfortunately, added to the effect and made Lip feel a little guilty about initially wanting to wake him up and kick him out. Mickey was cuddling a pillow longways, his chest settled over half of the pillow and his head sloping over the top, as though he were dreaming he was clinging to Ian's body. His face held no worry, his shoulders draped easily over the plumped fabric beneath him.

 

What the... Lip cursed himself internally... He should just be able to start wailing on the guy, really. They had never exactly been on good terms and they still had some unresolved shit from their adolescence that still grated on Lip's nerves. But the more he stared at Mickey... The more he kinda saw what had Ian so captivated. The sleeping man in front of him seemed to embody the definition of "ethereal aesthetic" with his soft cheeks, blonde hair, and serene face. Even the Fuck U-Up tattoos didn't confuse the image as much as they should. Lip sighed and backed away. 

"Fuck." Lip cursed under his breath turning around to leave the prick to sleep all day if he fuckin' wanted. He heard Fiona slide the door shut behind her as she too saw her way out.

 

/////

 

 Mickey woke late in the day. 3 or 4 o'clock he'd estimate from the amount of sunlight drifting in through the window. His phone was probably dead so he didn't even bother checking it. Instead he just lay in Ian's bed and soaked up the moment. 

 

He was in  _Ian's_ bed... He could smell Ian's smell--his deodorant, his aftershave, that smell that was just  _Ian..._ He'd almost forgotten what that smell was and Mickey felt himself getting so wrapped up in the scent that he couldn't help but grin and fight his emotion.

 

Ian took him back... And he'd laid down the line. This was the last time and Ian understood that and so either they were going to make it work or they were going to move on. Mickey breathed deep and looked around the room. Not much had changed from when Lip had it--same dresser, bed in the same position. But for some reason Mickey felt consumed by  _Ian_ in this room. He felt warm. It was a space they hadn't been in before so it felt like a fresh start.

 

But Mickey had to get a rein on this chest-expanding giddiness to remember some facts: he was still a fugitive, Ian could still easily get sick of him, his siblings might rat him out or demand he leave.

 

... Right. 

 

Mickey rolled his eyes as he felt his hopes crashing back down to Earth, weighed down by the gravity of reality. He groaned and sat up, looking down at his bare chest, then warming again at the memory of last night. He smirked a little bit in reverence as he allowed the memory to wash over him and feel the warmth of Ian's touch all over again, knowing that he would have more time this time if not forever. He could almost feel him still, too. Mickey loved that feeling. The ghost feeling like Ian was still inside him so that every time he moved he remembered what they did together. The intense feelings they gave each other when they joined. 

 

That touched smirk still on his face, Mickey pulled his boxers on and padded to the bathroom. Midway through washing his hands he realized he heard someone downstairs and groaned, knowing it couldn't be Ian. He would either have to face someone or would have to go to Ian's room to hide.

 

He decided on the latter option, just on the off-chance Ian hadn't the chance to tell anyone yet, not wanting to be on the receiving end of the Gallagher thug-stick. 

 

He was right about the phone. Dead as dirt. And he left the charger with his stuff at the Milkovich house so he was pretty much shit out of luck for entertainment. 

 

For some reason though he felt tired again and so curled back up on Ian's side of the bed, cuddling his pillow to his chest, and surprisingly fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

/////

Ian's gut wretched at the thought of going to see his siblings, but at the same time he felt the nervous butterflies fluttering around at the thought of seeing Mickey. All day he had been distracted trying to convince himself it was real. Everything about last night  _felt_ real... but he'd also had that wet dream a few weeks ago that had felt real, too. Maybe this time he just allowed himself to finish. But then he remembered waking up beside Mickey, seeing the oftentimes tense face at complete ease. The blonde hair had been surprisingly soft for a DIY peroxide bleach job as he'd ran his fingers through the strands.

 

Ian sighed at the front door, gathering his strength to deal with his family. As soon as he opened the door, he realized he probably should have taken an extra minute.

 

"Ian! Okay, we're fuckin' talking about this so don't even try to run upstairs!" Fiona shouted from the kitchen.

 

"I said we would, Fiona." Ian reminded, his impatience coloring his tone, unzipping his jacket and heading up the stairs anyway. 

 

"I said don't go up there!" She snapped, rushing to the base of the stairs, Lip following closely. 

 

"Are you fucking kidding me? He isn't allowed to join the conversation?" Ian said through a bitter laugh.

 

"He's not stayin' and nothing either o' you says is changin' that." Fiona replied sternly. Ian stomped down the four steps he'd climbed, and narrowed his eyes.

 

"He needs to be  home."

 

"He needs to go back to wherever the fuck he was or to turn himself into the police. If he serves his time and wants to come back to you then--"

 

"When? In 8 to 15 years? Probably even more than that now with the escape--"

 

"And whose fucking fault is that?" Lip interjected. Ian, obviously, had no answer for that.

 

"It's a bullshit sentence and you both know that." They also had no answer for that.

 

"That doesn't mean that he was right to escape and that doesn't eliminate the consequences if he's found here." Lip said gently. "All of us except Liam can go to prison as accessories in his escape--accomplices after the fact! Stowing a fugitive! They can throw the book at us, Ian. Is that what you want?" Lip's voice raised higher as he kept talking. Ian sagged.

 

"Look..." Mickey appeared at the top of the stairs shrugging on one of Ian's flannel shirts and wearing a pair of jeans and his beanie. He trudged down the stairs slowly, a little sheepish. "Ian called and wanted me to come back. I know I shouldn't've--"

 

"No. You shouldn't have. Actually, you shouldn't have escaped from fuckin' prison!" Fiona snapped. Mickey rolled his eyes, the same thought likely running through his mind as what was running through Ian's:  _you're not my mother._

 

"But I'm not going to do anything to lead someone over here. I'll stay in the house--"

 

" _Oh,_ you  _will?"_ Fiona bit sarcastically. Mickey rolled his eyes again and leaned back against the wall, folding his arms and clearly literally biting his tongue, eyebrows raised to complete the look of annoyance. Fiona flashed her angry eyes from Mickey back to Ian. "Ian, he can't stay here. Don't be ridiculous. He... He's no good for you, okay?" She tried to whisper the last bit as though Mickey weren't standing only ten feet away. Mickey's cheeks flushed in anger and embarrassment as Ian geared up to throw down.

 

"Are you fucking kidding me? Where the fuck do you get off giving relationship advice, Fiona?" Ian was almost laughing with the biting tone.

 

"It isn't about relationship advice. It's about the good of this family--the  _safety_ of this family. Even Frank has cooled down. Cops ain't coming by all the time anymore, and you know what? I  _like_ that! And excuse the fuck outta me  _for_ likin' it." Fiona snapped. Lip nodded sagely behind her in agreement.

 

"He already said he'll stay in the house. He's not going to do anything to get us in trouble. He wouldn't do that." Ian insisted.

 

"Please, Ian. Like he's ever given a shit about any of us--" Lip practically growled.

 

" _Excuse_ me?" Mickey interrupted.

 

"You  _heard_ me, Milkovich! You aren't a part of this family, we don't owe you  _shit!_ You helped Ian with his meds--cool. But half of the shit Ian got himself into was because you wouldn't let us hospitalize him in the first fuckin' place! And don't act like you give a shit about whether the rest of us get into trouble or not because we all know you don't care." 

 

"No. I don't care if  _you_ get into trouble, Phillip." Mickey corrected snidely. The fact that he didn't defend himself against Lip's accusations did not escape Ian's notice. For now, though, he had to make another point.

 

"Mickey took the fall for Debbie, that's  _why_ he was in prison. Otherwise, he coulda got out with probation, maybe a year for being a co-conspirator. But he didn't actually  _do_ anything that anyone could prove. Debbie did. So Mickey protected her there--"

 

"Yeah, yeah, and we're so grateful, truly." Fiona interrupted sarcastically, a bitter laugh punching out of her chest. Mickey breathed deep and took a seat on the stairs, officially withdrawing from the argument. "But why are we even talking about the past? We all need to think of the here and now. He's seen through a window or stepping outside for two seconds by the wrong person, the cops get called and we  _all_ go to prison. And forgive me, Mickey, but you aren't worth that to me." Mickey refused to look at her and the room sank into an uncomfortable silence. Fiona took a couple of steps to Ian and lowered her voice, her face softening to match a sweeter tone. "Ian... I know that you have been through a lot together. But you don't  _have_ to do this for him, he can't make you."

 

"He's not making me." Ian replied easily.

 

"I just..." She sighed, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation. "Fuck, Ian! Are you... Are you sure you're thinking about this clearly?" The way she said it was practically an innuendo for  _are you on your meds?_ It was a secret code Ian had learned well by now and resented. Ian groaned deep and staggered back, clenching his fists together.

 

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Fiona." Ian grumbled, running his fingers through his hair in aggravation. "You can't help yourself can you? Just gotta feel like you're helping even when you don't do shit around here anymore!"

 

"Hey!" Lip growled. "She's just trying to help, Ian!"

 

"Yeah, well fucking stop already! Out of the fifty times you've tried to see if I was manic or depressed, you know how many times I actually have been? None!" Lip shook his head, a grim smile on his face.

 

"No, remember you had to get your meds adjusted-"

 

"Yeah, because Sue noticed something was up, not Fiona, not you. Don't think that you are the only people who are watching me. At least the other people who are watching are more discrete about it and don't say anything unless something is actually wrong." Ian was about to walk out of the room when Lip snapped something under his breath. "What was that?"

 

"At least we give a shit and aren't going to let the symptoms pile on until it's too late and you... oh, I don't know steal a baby and take off for Orlando?" Lip said all of this while maintaining complete eye contact with him.

 

"Are you serious?" Ian murmured menacingly. They stared each other down, the room shutting down to complete silence. Ian had to work to keep his breathing under control. He wasn't going to go there. He couldn't go there because if he did, one of them would wind up in the hospital. "Mickey did more for me than any of you, even though he had no idea what the fuck he was doing or getting into. He didn't let anything go on too long, he just didn't know-"

 

"We told him!" Lip erupted.

 

"He didn't know!" Ian roared back. "And when he realized I needed help, I freaked out. _I_ freaked out. And when I got home, and he came back, he did more for me than any of you. He took me to the clinic, made sure I took the meds, made sure I ate with the meds, didn't drink with them, fucking researched side effects and how to counteract the side effects! All you did? You told him what I needed instead of coming and doing it yourself and you," this directed at Fiona, "ran with me once and _let_ me babysit Liam for you while you  _knew_  I was manic! Don't stand there and pretend that you worked your ass off for me or anything because you didn't. You helped when it was convenient for you and continued doing what he was already doing and had been doing all along then patting yourselves on the back when you felt you did good." No one argued with him. Was it because they knew he was right? Was it because they just didn't want him to break? He didn't know, didn't care. Mickey's face was bright in embarrassment at the praise. Ian's heart sank taking in the surprise in Mickey's eyes because he realized Mickey didn't think Ian had ever noticed these things... and beyond that had never thought to hope that Ian would bring them up. He thought those things he did were going to be swept under the rug and forgotten. Ian sighed.

 

"You can kick him out if you really want to, Fiona... But kicking him out  _is_ kicking me out and if you kick me out, there's no telling when you'll see me again." Ian said this much more gently than even he expected.

 

"What? Ian... You can't just--" Fiona stammered but lost her ability to speak.

 

"You can't just throw your family away over Mickey Milkovich." Lip butted in. He turned to Mickey, "Seriously, no offense." Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes up to stare at the ceiling for further disassociating. "You guys have almost never been solid. But _family_ is forever." Lip had to break off from emotion suddenly overtaking him.

 

"Mickey is my family, too. We  _were_ solid and we can be again." Lip and Fiona shook their heads in exasperation and desperation. "We were raising Yevgeny together, we had our own little dynamic with Svetlana... It wasn't perfect, but it  _was_ happy. The happiest I think I've ever been. It won't be the same now... But this may be my last chance to find out if we can make this work." Mickey sucked in a breath above him, but no one reacted as though they heard. Ian passed his siblings to the door and turned back to conclude, "So get your heads out of your asses and quit pretending like you've been the perfect siblings and caretakers, because you haven't been. And quit acting like Mickey caused all of my problems when he only tried to help. And now, he's going to stay with us because now he needs _my_ help. He's going to stay in my room and if anyone comes knocking, everything will be fine because they need probable cause to search the house, which they most likely don't have if they didn't have it a year ago. And since he's going to be living here, you all are going to treat him like part of the family. As though nothing changed. It was headed that way a couple of years ago and we're going to go back to that because he deserves a family and deserves our appreciation for everything he's done for us." Ian was panting a little bit from the adrenaline of the confrontation and the restraint he forced on himself. Fiona and Lip stood dumbfounded glancing at Mickey then at Ian, then back to Mickey again. They were silent for a long, long time before Ian finally nodded and walked out of the front door to sit on the porch.

.....

Mickey stared at the remaining Gallaghers who both were clearly less than pleased to see him.

 

"Look, I mean it. I don't want to give you guys trouble--"

 

"Then why'd you come back?" Lip demanded. Mickey stood and slowly descended the stairs.

 

"Ian called me. And it's not like I wanted to go to Mexico by  _myself_ in the first place. Ain't nothin' down there for me."

 

"There isn't much here for you either." Fiona bit back. Mickey's brows rose in irritation.

 

"Maybe not to you." Mickey replied easily.

 

"I swear to Christ, Milkovich... If you get my brother in trouble--" Lip grumbled but Mickey hustled down the last three steps to get into Lip's face.

 

"You'll what, Gallagher?" They were nose to nose, glaring each other down, breathing each other's air. "Finish that threat, I want to hear it." Mickey dared. Fiona just watched warily beside her brother as Lip did his best to look tough while avoiding eye contact. Mickey gave Lip several seconds to consider his words before smirking. "Exactly what I thought." He backed up two paces, turning toward the door. "I ain't tryna get you all in trouble. I mean, even if I wanted you to get in trouble, which I  _don't,_ what would that do for me?" Fiona and Lip exchanged glances. "Think about that before you accuse me of anything. I'm here for Ian. He's all I've really got going for me now so... I may as well have him as long as he wants me." Fiona's face fell but Mickey turned too quickly to give her the time to comment. He shut off the porch light before taking a seat next to his boyfriend on the top step.

 

Ian didn't move as Mickey plopped down beside him, releasing a breath.

 

"Sorry about that." Ian finally murmured after a prolonged silence. Mickey shrugged.

 

"Coulda gone worse, I guess." Mickey smirked at the thought of Fiona and Lip trying to throw him out or calling someone to drag him away. It wouldn't have made any difference. Knowing Ian he would have just found him later and they would have figured something else out together. Another silence settled between them, but it wasn't completely uncomfortable, just heavy. Mickey felt Ian's warmth radiating through his sleeve, the chill of early evening sinking into the flannel. A shiver pulsed through Mickey's spine and Ian wrapped an arm around him, drawing him into his side. Mickey allowed Ian to cuddle him to his side because it was still so  _nice_ and so  _new_ being able to. Mickey had dreamed of being able to cuddle Ian to him for months. Even though it was still weird being this affectionate on Ian's stoop where anyone could see, the current circumstances made the affection the least of his problems and gave him a weird sense of freedom, even entitlement, to enjoy it. Ian lowered his nose to Mickey's beanie and inhaled deeply.

 

"I ain't showered in a coupla days, shoulda taken one before Lip got home." Mickey grumbled apologetically. Ian chuckled under his breath and inhaled even deeper just to spite him. Butterflies erupted in the pit of Mickey's stomach at the response and he sniffed down a laugh of his own. They settled into a more comfortable silence, breathing each other in and basking in their reunion once again. "Look, Ian... I don't want to come between you and your family, that's not what I'm after. Lip may be an asshole but he has a point about family--"

 

"Shut up, Mickey." Ian muttered briskly.

 

"No." Mickey pulled away from Ian's hold and looked into his eyes. "I don't want you throwing away something you're going to miss. That's why I forgave you for not coming to Mexico with me. I knew you'd end up resenting me. Now we're in that same boat again but you're choosing me and I don't want that to be something you regret down the road, either." Ian bit his lip and averted his gaze. "We could... I could find somewhere to lay low outside of Chicago and we could meet up--"

 

"Just last night when we talked about long distance you hated the idea!" Ian exclaimed in a heated whisper. Mickey sighed, recognizing the mixed nature of his own words.

 

"I know... I just..." Mickey breathed deep and rest his head against Ian's shoulder again. "After that fight... I don't want to see you cut your siblings out of your life and then resent me for it later on. And I don't want anyone to get in trouble over me, least of all you."  Ian tightened his hold around Mickey's shoulder and nodded his head, his cheek rubbing against the fabric of the beanie, shifting it on Mickey's head.

 

"Well... Then we'll just play it extra safe. Maybe in a year or two we can work on getting you out into town, testing the waters. You've still got those fake IDs right?" Mickey grimaced but nodded.

 

"Probably need new ones but... I don't even want to think about that right now. That's... That's gotta be something we talk about when we actually start thinking it's a possibility. It's still too soon as it is." Mickey pointed out. Ian nodded and fell silent. "I just don't want to ruin your life after everything you've done to turn it around."

Ian thought about correcting him, but chose to just put that worry to rest rather than start an argument.

 

“This is it, remember? We're not trying this again and I'm not going to let anything jeopardize the final try.” Ian replied passionately. Mickey pulled back and took in the serious look on Ian's face. He really meant it. This was  _his_ Ian. The Ian who would follow him to the ends of the Earth to find a way to be with him, the Ian who wanted Mickey to be happy and with him at any means necessary. Mickey nodded and kissed him softly. Ian smiled into the kiss and broke it to rest his forehead against Mickey's. 

 

"C'mon. I've had a long day and you're feeling tense..." Ian hinted feeling his body warm at his own suggestion. Mickey arched his brow.

 

"Well, come to think of it..." Ian laughed (it could almost be called a giggle) and kissed him one more time before pulling them both up and running up the stairs to Ian's new bedroom. As they climbed the stairs, they heard Ian's siblings calling after them wanting to keep talking, but neither allowed their voices to penetrate the little bubble around them. They shuffled into Ian's bedroom, Ian very pointedly slamming the sliding door closed and locking it before locking his lips on Mickey's. Mickey smiled and pulled Ian into him by the waist while Ian cupped the back of his head and drew him closer. They slowly meandered backward to Ian's bed, hands exploring each other as though they hadn't thoroughly mapped each other last night, as though no amount of touching would ever be enough. Their breaths turned shallow as the kisses drew out longer and deeper, their tongues frequently dancing together as they each indulged in each other. 

 

Mickey lowered his hand to the front of Ian's pants, thoroughly feeling his slowly filling erection.

 

"Fuck..." Mickey breathed. Ian smiled and thrust his hips into Mickey's hold.

 

"Fuck I missed you, Mick." Ian responded sweetly. Mickey just kissed him again and started shuffling at Ian's jacket and button down. Ian didn't do much to help, just wanting Mickey to take control. And Mickey rose to the occasion, as always. In no time, Ian was bare chested and started unbuttoning Mickey's own button down, kissing him sweetly but passionately as Mickey worked at the front of Ian's pants.

 

"What should we do tonight?" Ian murmured against Mickey's lips. Mickey grinned conspiratorially. 

 

"It's been fuckin'  _years_ since I've ridden dick..." Ian made a noise from deep in the back of his throat at the thought. The sound sent a surge of powerful lust through Mickey as he finally undid the stubborn button at Ian's waistband.

 

"Fuck, Mick, don't make me beg." Ian groaned, thrusting his hips into Mickey's hold. Mickey's smirk deepened at Ian's reaction.

 

"Don't gotta beg this time, Firecrotch. I'm too impatient for that shit for right now." Mickey grabbed the back of Ian's head and crashed their lips together again, loving the  _fuck_ out of the way butterflies erupted in his stomach every time their lips met. Loving how he was getting harder and harder every second even though they hadn't really done anything yet. Loving how they were both getting off on just  _being_ together. 

 

Ian broke away abruptly to get the stuff, apparently ready to get this thing on the road, leaving Mickey breathless at the foot of Ian's bed with a goofy smile on his face. When he turned to check out Ian's back muscles and ass he was so floored by what he saw, their moment was completely forgotten.

 

"Ian? What. The.  _Fuck._ Is that?" Mickey demanded, reaching out to touch his shoulder blade.

 

"Aww, fuck." Ian groaned, placing the lube and condoms he's retrieved on the top of the dresser before dropping his head in defeat.

 

"You go hetero on me while I was gone? Jesus! I thought you said tits freaked you out or some shit?" Mickey was at a full loss for words, stumbling through trying to figure out what was going on. Ian turned around and cut Mickey off.

 

"I mean... They don't  _anymore_ but I still don't _like_ them."

 

"You like 'em enough to get them tattooed on your body, I guess." Mickey replied, befuddled, still trying to get a gander at the horrible display on Ian's back. Ian spread out on the bed, thoroughly hiding the horrible tattoo.

 

"It was an accident!" Ian insisted, covering his face with his hands. Mickey's brows shot up in disbelief.

 

"You can't accidentally tattoo something on your body. I mean--did you go to a professional shop?" Ian sighed and nodded. "Okay... so, what went wrong?"

 

Ian shook his head. "I dunno. I told him it was a tribute piece to a woman. I didn't want to get into details about Monica. I was expecting flowers or a bird or some shit like that. He says my girlfriend is gonna love this and I told him it was my mom, and he told me that if he'd known it was my mom he would have never put titties on my back." Ian refused to look at Mickey's face as he retold the horrible story.

 

"That still--That still makes  _no_ sense!" Ian nodded. 

 

"I know." 

 

"Well, you've officially lost all right to make fun of  _my_ shitty tattoo!" Mickey started laughing hysterically. Ian groaned but nodded as though saying  _that's fair._ Ian let Mickey laugh for a long time before sitting up and begging for mercy with his eyes. Mickey's laughter slowed down but the shit-eating grin didn't go away.

 

"At least it's on my back, right? You don't have to look at it unless you want to." Ian suggested. Mickey actually pouted in a very un-Mickey way. It actually almost reminded Ian of Mandy.

 

"But I like looking at your back." Mickey grumbled. Ian smirked.

 

"Oh really?"  Mickey nodded. Ian pulled Mickey in by his waist, continuing to pull him in until Mickey had little choice but to straddle him. He clambered onto Ian's lap and sighed at the remainder of Ian's hard on pressing up against him. "Why's that?" Ian asked coyly. Mickey rolled his eyes not really wanting to verbalize just how transfixed he was by Ian's body.

 

“Really man... You've gotta get that covered.” Mickey says running his fingers over the tattoo. Ian shrugs and nods, a grim smile on his face.

 

“I'll cover mine when you cover yours.” Ian remarks tauntingly. Mickey started to argue but closed his mouth.

 

“Touche...” He allowed, softly running his fingers through Ian's hair. They stared at each other for a few moments, taking each other in.

 

"I don't know if I'm ever going to get used to this again... You actually being here." Ian whispered. Mickey bit his lip and averted his eyes, cheeks flushing a little bit.

 

"You wanna get all soft on me or we doin' this? I liked where it was going." Mickey's voice cracked a little bit, betraying the effect Ian's words had on him. Ian smirked and  worked Mickey's boxers down his legs before Mickey had no choice but to stand to let them fall to the floor, at which time Ian took the opportunity to quickly shred his own boxers off. Mickey immediately re-assumed his position over Ian's lap and attacked his lips with his own.

 

Where last night they had been in a rush to feel everything at once, this time they took their time with kissing each other, getting reacquainted to the other's tics and rediscovering their sweet spots. As they leisurely kissed, they started rubbing against each other in ways they didn't even do back when they lived together at the Milkovich house. They'd taken so much for granted back then. They both made an unspoken oath to never underestimate the value of feeling each other's skin, memorizing birthmarks and dips in their forms. Mickey grinded his ever thickening member against Ian's and bit his lip as a low groan slid from Ian's mouth. Mickey grinned appreciatively and repeated the motion, also taking notice of how their chests felt pressed together. Ian's hands were digging into Mickey's hip and shoulder as he picked up the teasing motion but when he tried to flip him over to have his way with him, Mickey pressed his hand firmly against the wall behind Ian. Ian tried again but met the same resistance.

 

"I wanted to go down on you--"

 

"Fuck no, Gallagher. Knowing you, you'll go straight to fuckin' from that and I'll have to wait until round two. I'm doin' this  _now."_ Ian laughed and leaned back against the wall, allowing Mickey to take full control. Mickey grabbed the lube and condom and set to work, rolling the condom on before rubbing a generous amount of lube to his opening and over the condom.

 

"What, no prep?" Ian asked, concerned. 

 

"Last night was prep enough." Mickey promised. Ian was unsure but knew that this Mickey, this really  _really_ horny Mickey was  _not_ to be argued with.

 

"Alright, man. Tell me what you need me to do since it looks like you got this." Ian sighed in defeat. Mickey rolled his eyes and lifted his body up.

 

"You good?" Mickey asked quickly, reaching behind him to take a hold of Ian. Ian's breath stalled for a moment as Mickey took a firm hold but then nodded. They maintained eye contact as Mickey sank down on the Ian's tip. A small cry burst from Mickey's chest at the feeling which would have concerned Ian except for the absolutely sinful look on Mickey's face that fully illustrated how good he felt. He made slow but steady progress dropping over Ian's lap, breathing slow and deep. When he was halfway down, his head dropped back, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Ian grinned proudly, having forgotten just how much Mickey  _loved_ riding dick. It was arguably his favorite position though they didn't do it much for fear of someone walking in. As he neared the base, Mickey clutched Ian to him and Ian went without resistance, wrapping his arms around Mickey's waist.

 

" _fuck..."_ Mickey breathed into Ian's neck, breathing in his scent as he finally bottomed out. Mickey stilled and Ian didn't pressure him to get moving, instead enjoying the feeling of gravity sinking Mickey lower and lower as they settled together. Mickey's arms were wrapped lovingly around Ian's shoulders, his fingers spread through the shorter strands at the base of his neck and Ian allowed his own hands to wander a little bit. When Mickey's thighs started shaking a bit Ian pulled back to look at Mickey's face to gauge how he was doing.

 

"You alright?" Ian asked, momentarily startled by the blonde hair, still expecting black. Mickey exhaled sharply and nodded. "You good to move?" He asked gently. Mickey nodded again and raised himself up about an inch before slowly sliding back down, releasing a satisfied sigh with Ian.

 

"Fuck... Yeah, I'm... I'm good." Mickey promised breathlessly. Ian smiled and shifted his hips to experiment with the angle and Mickey tilted his hips too, humming low when they hit a particular spot. "Good..." Mickey insisted, pulling up again--this time a couple of inches and sliding back down more quickly. 

 

They built a pace together from there, twisting their hips and switching up their arms' placements rediscover their favorite ways of holding each other. Though Mickey's legs were tiring out (it had been a long time, okay?) he couldn't allow Ian to toss him over until they were almost done. They tried to keep quiet, but their version of "quiet" still echoed like roars to their own ears within their little bubble. They wouldn't know until the next morning how well they had accomplished being quiet, but for this moment they didn't care. Along with hand placement and pace, they experimented with eye contact and kissing each other's necks or shoulders. They continued in this way for what could have been hours or mere minutes, neither of them knew. They just couldn't stop trying to figure each other out to play to their old tricks and also to learn how they'd each changed over the past couple of years.

 

"Ian?" Mickey said after a long time of relative quiet between them.

 

"Now?" Ian breathed and Mickey nodded almost desperately. Ian wrapped his hands around the backs of Mickey's thighs and Mickey held on tight to Ian as he flipped them over. "Close?" He huffed as he spread Mickey's legs wide and settled low over him, rocking into his body at about the same pace they had been going in the previous position. Mickey nodded again, his head tossed back against the pillow, and hooked his leg over Ian's waist, dragging him forward.

 

"C'mon man, you know how this goes." Mickey taunted. Ian smirked and raised up on one elbow, reaching up with the other arm to grab a hold of the headboard. Using it as leverage, Ian picked up the intensity, pounding into Mickey with as much force as he could. Mickey bit his lip so hard Ian was almost afraid Mickey would be tasting blood soon. Taking his arm away from the headboard, he covered Mickey's mouth for him so he could release his lower lip. It muffled some of the new noises but probably not nearly enough to satisfy Fiona or Lip. Ian laughed smugly under his breath as he kept the pace going but Mickey was oblivious. Still being aware of Ian's siblings below them, though, Mickey reached between them to jerk himself off quickly, not wanting to get on their shit list so soon (though it was probably too late, he didn't want to make matters worse).

 

"C'mon, Mick..." Ian breathed against Mickey's chest, picking up the pace just a fraction, inspiring a new deep groan out of Mickey into Ian's hand. Finally, without either of them prepared for it, Mickey came, the noise being entirely too loud and too sudden for either of them to cover. Luckily, it was quick though and hardly distinguishable from the other sounds. Ian kept going, knowing that Mickey would rather he go until he's finished than stop and need to start back up again.

 

"I'm close, okay?" Ian promised. Mickey nodded and slung his other leg heavily across the back of Ian's thighs, using his to urge him on. He tucked his head into Mickey's shoulder and inhaled deeply, suffocating his own groan against his neck as he finally came inside him, slamming balls deep in as he emptied himself into the condom. As their breaths started to even out they cursed together and laughed.

 

Ian finally withdrew from him but remained laying on top of him. They stared at each other for a very long time, stroking each other's hair and cheeks in a way that neither of them expected they would do in a  _million_ years. Not anti-sappy Mickey Milkovich.

 

Looks like there was a first time for everything.


	7. Prima Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey and Fiona face off and Mickey tries to show the family that he can be useful.

 They hadn't stayed up much longer after they both came. They talked for a while but it was mostly Ian telling Mickey what he'd been up to since returning home from the border. He started from when he got home to find out Monica died and Mickey instantly demanded to know if Ian was okay and tried to console him. Ian promised that everything was okay, but Mickey was doubtful considering he had first hand experience of Ian in post-Monica-disaster recovery. Now this was the  _ultimate_ Monica blow up, and Mickey hadn't been there. This thought churned Mickey's stomach as self-loathing coated his insides, anger at himself for being completely unavailable for Ian in a time of need simmering just below the surface. Ian saw Mickey's self-loathing right away and pulled his attention back to his face.

 

 "Hey. Don't you do that," Ian had whispered furiously. Mickey just readjusted himself on the pillow they shared and stared at Ian's chest emptily before reaching out to graze the tips of his fingers over the patch of chest hair that had suddenly appeared since Mickey had been away--another change that he'd missed that didn't sit well with Mickey. "Don't blame yourself for not being here. Honestly, I shouldn't have even been here either... I should have been with you." 

 

"Let's not go there right now." Mickey replied gruffly, flashing his eyes up to meet gazes with Ian, solidifying his plea to change the subject. Ian sighed, mouthed an okay, and reached out to touch a blonde lock of hair that had fallen into Mickey's face. Mickey bit his lip and leaned into the touch, enjoying the warmth of Ian's fingers, the feeling of his slightly calloused hands that he'd been dreaming of for several months and never expected to feel again.

 

The rest of the night Ian told Mickey about his momentary obsession with helping the homeless LGBT+ youth with drug and STI prevention, helping Trevor locate a shelter, but stopped giving as many details when it came to the point in his story when his stupid feud with Fiona was over and Ian had nothing else to focus on but how much he missed Mickey. Mickey just lay there listening, rolling his eyes when Ian had gone off the deep end and fought with his sister.

 

"Hey, that shit was important to me!" Ian had insisted. Mickey rolled his eyes again. 

 

"Since fuckin' when?" He laughed.

 

"Since... Well, always if you want to think about it?" Mickey furrowed his brows in disbelief. "Nevermind, I just... I wanted to help them because I know what it's like to be homeless in Chicago in the cold months, but I had Monica helping me there for a while, and I got off the streets right before it got  _really_ cold. And most of these kids were coming from abusive and homophobic backgrounds and I just... I don't know, I connected with that. And I felt the need to help them..." The true meaning of Ian's words wasn't lost on Mickey, but he pretended not to notice because he didn't really want anyone's pity vote (least of all Ian's) and he also didn't want to be the inspiration behind Ian's childish feud with his sister... Especially since he was doing that right now just by _being_ here.

 

They'd fallen asleep when Ian had mostly run out of things to say and Mickey could hardly keep his eyes open. They'd kissed gently and wrapped their arms around each other, still facing each other rather than spooning. But when Mickey woke up the next morning, he was spooning Ian and nuzzling his neck. Waking up to see Ian's firey hair and the burst of freckles under his hairline, spreading down to his back and across his shoulders. He smiled at Ian's back, just so relieved to find that yesterday, and the day before, hadn't been just dreams. He was really and truly with the Gallaghers and Ian had really taken him back (and for what it was worth,  _he_ took  _Ian_ back).

 

There wasn't an alarm clock to check and his phone was on the floor still dead, but he didn't want to go back to sleep. He was all caught up on sleep and didn't want to get a headache later. He slowly unraveled from his hold on Ian, sliding out from behind him and carefully leaving the bed, trying not to shift too much so Ian wouldn't stir. He did move a little bit and Mickey froze.

 

"Mick?" Ian asked, groping his shoulder and then his waist to feel for Mickey's arm.

 

"Hey, man." Mickey whispered kneeling down by the bed to give Ian the chance to touch him and know that he was real and was still there.

 

"Come back to bed, man." Ian whined, scooting back from the edge of the mattress to give Mickey room.

 

"Nah, I'm awake now. I'm gonna go downstairs, make coffee and some shit." Ian's eyes opened a little to take Mickey in.

 

"This isn't your way of trying to bang-and-ditch is it?" Ian sounded like he was only half joking. Mickey rolled his eyes.

 

"Yeah, that's totally why I skipped back over the border and risked my ass to come back to you. Two lays, that's all I wanted. And now I've had my fill so I'm leavin'." Ian smirked.

 

"Asshole." He grumbled and Mickey smiled, a small laugh snorting out as he watched Ian's eyes close and his body snuggling under the covers demonstrating how cozy Mickey could be if only he would get back in bed.

 

"Yeah, yeah, well this asshole  _was_ planning on making you and the little one some breakfast but now I don't know." Ian didn't respond, having fallen back asleep almost as soon as the blanket resettled over his shoulder. Mickey rolled his eyes and tucked the blanket thoroughly around him so his back wouldn't get cold.

 

He pulled on a pair of sweatpants from Ian's drawer, cuffing the bottoms twice, before sliding the shirt Ian wore yesterday over his head, tugging at the hem and realizing it was quite long but not to the degree that he would look ridiculous. Nervous butterflies crowded his stomach as he slid the door open and closed it gently behind him. Debbie's door was closed tight as was the boys' room with Liam sleeping soundly, Mickey guessed. He released a nervous breath and staggered down the stairs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 

In the kitchen, Fiona sat at the table opposite her usual spot, clearly waiting for Mickey to come down. Once his feet padded against the tile of the kitchen, Fiona looked up, a hard look on her face, radiating tension. He stood at the base of the stairs silently meeting her glare for a prolonged moment. Finally, Fiona sighed, "I made enough for you too." Mickey eyed her coffee cup, which she raised to her lips, and nodded. He gathered his usual confident swagger to saunter to the cupboard to pull his own cup and pour his own coffee. A small sense of satisfaction settled the butterflies as she watched him grab the sugar  with confidence, rubbing in his familiarity-- _Yeah, bitch. I used to live here and by the end of this, you'll realize nothing has changed. I'm reclaiming my spot._

 

His coffee properly sweetened, Mickey strolled to the table and took the seat directly across from Fiona and prepared for what he supposed would be an interrogation. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a long time, pointedly ignoring each other in favor of sipping their drinks. Finally, Fiona smacked her lips, her cup drained of her beverage, and met Mickey dead in the eye for a moment before looking away awkwardly again.

 

"The hair is throwing me."  Fiona muttered crossly, the tone conveying an insult though Mickey found her amusing.

 

"Yeah, it took some getting used to." He replied easily, quietly laughing to himself. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, scowling.

 

"You won't fool people in this neighborhood, you know that right?" That effectively put Mickey back in his place. "Blonde hair won't change your history here, your roots." Mickey nodded solemnly. "Since apparently I have to deal with you to avoid losing my brother, I've gotta lay down some ground rules."

 

" _Ground rules_?" Mickey scoffed. Fiona nodded. Mickey bit the inside of his bottom lip to keep himself from showing everything he was thinking. There was a range between  _who does this bitch think she is, this bitch ain't my mom,_ and  _fuck her, I can do what I goddamned please._ None of these thoughts being appropriate considering the position he was in. Mickey quashed his mounting anger at her rudeness, reminding himself of the position his presence was putting her in. He sighed and asked under his breath, "What are they?"

 

"No leaving the house or peeking through the curtains during the day. And if you  _do_ leave the house, you can't come back in daylight. Although, actually--"

 

"I get it. Don't lead anyone to the house. I wasn't planning on  it." Mickey interrupted, irritation only slightly restrained. Fioa looked equally on edge with her irritation. They glared intently at each other, levelling each other with their eyes.

 

"Number two?" Mickey prompted.

 

"Number two, since you can't work, I guess you can't contribute to finances?" Mickey didn't respond... She knew the answer. "Which means you've gotta earn your keep somehow. May as well do something with your time--especially since Ian isn't here about twelve hours at a time." Mickey chewed on his cheek. That was something he hadn't thought about...  _fuck._ "So, laundry, fixing broken stuff around the house, keeping common areas clean... That sort of thing. Dinner and breakfast if you can handle some of that..." Fiona sounded smug, as though she thought this was the sure way to chase him off.

 

"Okay." He replied simply. As she said, he may as well use his time here to be useful. She didn't react but Mickey was certain that betrayed her shock even more.

 

"And last--If it's non-essential, you don't need it. Unless you somehow pay for it yourself, or it's gifted to you, meaning: no weed, no alcohol, no cigarettes... Nothing you don't absolutely need like food.

 

Mickey flushed at this. So, he was a part of the family... But not part of the family.... He chewed more on his bottom lip. It wasn't that he was surprised or hurt by this, it just suddenly struck him how silly he'd been to think things would go back to how they were a couple of years ago. Maybe they still would and it would just take some time... If Mickey could be patient for long enough...

 

"You're not getting drunk and high and lazing around the house all day on  _our_ dime." She dug in further. Mickey ground his teeth again, tightening his hands into fists at her smug-ass sense of power over him. He swallowed his anger to level his gaze with her and nod civilly.

 

She leaned forward dramatically and it took all of Mickey's willpower not to roll his eyes at her.

 

"Do you even understand what is at risk?" Mickey raised his brows as if saying  _no I hadn't even considered. I dare you to fill me in._ "Carl is in military school now. He's fuckin' going places none of us dreamed o' going and if it's found out that he's in any way related to this he could lose his scholarship or even get _time_ for harboring a fugitive!" Mickey wanted to remind her of Ian's dreams before the bipolar kicked in, but he kept his mouth shut and let her keep talking as though she knew shit. " _I've_ got a record and I  _just_ started makin; somethin' of myself. Because of my record I could get more time than anyone here. Lip is finally finding his footing again. Debbie has a _baby_ and could lose her! Liam will go into foster care and none of us would be around to get him back. Ian would never get the exact proper medication behind bars and he'd end up serving more time because he helped you to the fucking  _border!"_ She was raising in volume as her frustration was clearly mounting into hysteria. "This  _whole family_ could be  _destroyed_ because o' _you..._ and _you_? You already know the consequences for yourself. Have had time to think about it and weigh your options. Clearly, seeing Ian is worth that for  _you_ but what about  _us_?" Every muscle in Mickey's back tensed to the point of pain, his jaw grinding so hard his teeth ached.

 

"All very important questions... But let me ask you some of mine." Mickey practically growled. Fiona raised her eyebrows sarcastically as if to say  _oh boy I can't wait to hear this one!_ "Ever wonder why the cops never even knocked on your door after I was arrested? Ever stop to think how Debbie was never brought in for so much as a questioning? Why her computer wasn't taken in for evidence? Or you as a witness to motive? Even Ian for being the center of all this? Anyone who would've had information for motive or any of that other shit to nail me to the wall so they could slap me with the book?" Fiona's smugness faded a bit. Apparently she hadn't thought about it--or maybe she had but chose to ignore it. "Yeah." Mickey's breath was coming in faster as anger and resentment of old betrayal washed over him. "I took the complete fall for her. Something a Milkovich  _never_ does, I might add. Never snitch and never take the fall for shit ya didn't do and  _never_ plead guilty. I did all three to protect Debbie."

 

"Things never woulda pointed to Debbie." Fiona replied weakly. Mickey laughed without humor.

 

"Bullshit. She was looking up torture techniques on the  _family_ computer when I told her I roofied Sammi. That's all I did was drug her. And by the time Sammi got to the police the drug was completely out of her system so there would've been jack shit to prove it. But for Debbie? She found the car battery outside and brought it in before going to the computer to look up torture techniques. The 'attempted murder' bullshit wouldn't have come into play until Debbie's part. And she was fifteen at the time so the only things working in her favor at that point would've been she's white and she's got a clean record. Other'n that..." Mickey shrugged.

"They could've slapped her with the book, no doubt, and would've too just to look like they take juvenile delinquents seriously even with in-family crimes. And juvie does a number on some kids, but imagine if they somehow found the grounds to try her as an adult." Fiona looked away, arms still folded protectively across her chest. Mickey was being cruel right now and he knew it, but he couldn't find it in himself to care. Ian tried bringing this up last night and she wouldn't listen, so now it was his turn. "That court appointed fuck told me that if anyone else was involved I'd better give 'em up so they can reduce my sentence. I asked what all Sammi told and they told me a full investigation would take place because Sammi ratted  _all_ o' you out for either being a part of it or knowin' we were talkin' about it." Fiona's face looked haunted as she tried not to look at him. A small feeling of shame creeped into Mickey at her pain at the possibilities but it didn't put so much as a shadow over his satisfaction that she finally was getting it.

"I asked if I confessed right here, right now, if that would stop the investigation. My lawyer said yeah so long as it doesn't seem like I'm hidin' anything. So I told them everything I did and left Debbie completely out of it. Of course, the deal I got wasn't very good from my juvie record which apparently was never sealed so they used that against me." Mickey shrugged again. "You know they gave me one last chance before putting that sentence in my record, before making it official, to go back on the deal? My lawyer knew there was somethin' off but couldn't get it out of me." Fiona wiped away a tear. "And that's because I thought I was apart of this family. It's not like I didn't pull my weight around here! I got your brother outta your hair and looked after him when I had fuck all to go off of. I was a brother to your little siblings while you were off gettin' married or doin' drugs or whatever the fuck you were up to at the time and Lip was away at college learnin' some fancy shit that he can't even  _use_ anymore because he got kicked out, right? And why would I do that, Fiona? Hm? Why would I go outta my way to help so many people I  _shouldn't_ give a shit about, but for some reason do?" It was a rhetorical question and Mickey wasn't about to answer it. She knew the answer and he could see it in the shame on her face. "So stop fuckin' worryin' about me bringing drama in here or gettin' you all in trouble. It wouldn't help me anyway and even if it  _would_ help me, I think I've already proven that I'm not throwin' you Gallaghers under the bus for shit. Even though half of you probably deserve it." Mickey rolled his eyes. Fiona looked offended but didn't say anything. "I made the mistake of thinkin' I was a Gallagher once. Don't worry, I won't make that mistake again. But since I'm living in this house for  _Ian_ I'll play the part and keep you safe since apparently that's all I'm good for in this family--keepin' Gallaghers safe." 

 

Fiona jutted out her chin, a look that said she was trying to hold on to her dignity though she knew her character had just been shot to pieces.

 

"Look. I'm not sayin' all of this for your guilt or apologies--though I'd say I'm owed one--" He rolled his eyes and continued hurriedly, "Ian asked me here so I'm here. I'm like a goddamned Genie with unlimited wishes when it comes to that kid. I've never been able to say no to him, so here I am. Like you said, it's not like I got anywhere to be for the next few years so I may as well make myself useful around here. I learned a lot of stuff down in Mexico that could be useful here so I'll do everything I can. But I ain't doin' it for you Gallaghers anymore. My days of putting _Gallaghers_ first are over.  _Ian's_ the only one I'm really doin' this for."

 

"Why?" 

 

Mickey had to stop and think about that one for a moment.

 

"I dunno. I've just... Never been able to say no to him. Never wanted him to be unhappy so long as I could do something to help. And no amount of shit he's pulled has changed that and I don't expect it to start now." He sighed a little bit, draining the last of his coffee. Fiona nodded absently, not looking at him.

 

"Laundry. We're behind on laundry. Would you mind--?" 

 

"Yeah, that's fine." 

 

They sat in awkward silence for another brief moment before Fiona got up to place her empty mug in the sink and then ran up the stairs to get Liam ready for school.  Mickey suddenly realized the rugrat needed something to eat before going and got up to make the kid some scrambled eggs and toast. The eggs were just about finished when the kid came hopping--literally hopping--down the stairs. The child stopped at the foot of the stairs, right where Mickey had twenty minutes ago, and stared at Mickey as though trying to place him.

 

"Hey kid." Mickey greeted gruffly, not putting on any cutsey kiddy voice like others did with him. The kid was almost eight now, time to start talking to him like a fully-formed human being.

 

"Who're you again?" Liam asked with genuine confusion.

 

"Last time you saw me I had black hair." Mickey prompted, sliding the eggs out of the pan and onto a small plate complete with four mini squares of buttered toast. Recognition dawned on the little boy's face and he climbed into the chair Mickey set his breakfast in front of.

 

" _OH!_ You're the one who always has a cut or bruise on his face!" Liam beamed at the memory.

 

"Uh... Yeah. Not exactly what I expected you to remember, but I guess that sounds about right." Mickey felt a little awkward that  _that_ was what Liam remembered, but he supposed there were worse memories the kid could have of him--like sucking his brother off under a blanket... "Remember my name?" He asked, holding out a fork to the kid.

 

"M--M...Mikey?" He guessed, digging into his eggs while looking to Mickey for confirmation.

 

"Uh, close. Mickey." He smiled a little bit. Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating earlier when he said he was done putting all Gallaghers beside Ian first. Liam had never done anything, he was just a kid. Not wanting to get caught in an awkward silence with a seven year old, Mickey set to washing the pan, spatula, and knife since he didn't have much else to do.

 

Fiona came rushing downstairs wearing more official looking clothing and tying her hair up on top of her head in a knot.

 

"Thanks, Mickey!" She murmured awkwardly as she recognized Liam sitting in his chair and eating happily. Her tone was a little too cheery, like she was trying to pretend this was okay by her--or even like this was already a normal and every day thing for her.

 

"No problem." Mickey grumbled signalling that they were  _not_ okay yet.

 

"Uh, I got everyone to drop their laundry down the chute so if there's more dirty clothes they're gonna have to wash it themselves or wait for the next laundry day." She announced.

 

"Got it." Mickey murmured, pouring himself another cup of coffee. Fiona buttoned the cuffs on her long sleeve button down and over adjusted her shirt, clearly uncomfortable.

 

"Okay... You all done, Liam?" She asks in a baby voice that makes Mickey's insides shrivel and die with sugary decay. "Go give your plate to Mickey and grab your coat!" Fiona called as she breezed through the living room gathering her stuff.

 

Liam hopped off his chair and ran the plate to Mickey.

 

"Thank you!" He exclaimed and ran off. Mickey was so stunned by the exchange--the purity of it, the alienness of it--that he just leaned against the counter for a moment. He shook it off quickly, though and washed the plate as footsteps descended the stairs. He expected Ian and turned to greet him, but his smile faded when it turned out to be Lip who examined the plate in Mickey's hand and then his face.

 

Gathering some swagger, Lip stalked over to Mickey's corner making it clear he wanted coffee and Mickey was in his way. Mickey did not make it easy for him strictly because he didn't want the douchebag to get the wrong idea that Mickey would be in any way subdued. He finished rinsing the plate and was about to start drying it when Lip turned around, mug in hand, and glared daggers at Mickey so strong the ex-thug was almost impressed.

 

"What?" Mickey snapped as Lip took a faux-innocent sip of coffee.

 

"You know... I've never understood it." Lip finally replied after luxuriating in his coffee.

 

"It?" Mickey prompted when Lip wouldn't continue.

 

"You and my brother." He clarified and finally moved to give them some space and slowly meandered to the island where he pulled up on a bar stool to continue facing Mickey. Mickey didn't say anything, just continued staring at Lip indifferently, refusing to let this punk get a rise out of him. "It always seemed like he was the one most into the relationship until one day--" he snapped his fingers for effect, "you're  _gay_ and  _out_ and  _free_ and all that other bullshit Ian spits when he's feeling all touchy-feely." Mickey's expression didn't change. "But now with the hair... I kinda see it." 

 

Mickey's muscles tightened in his back and he fought the aggravation wanting to display plainly on his face. He should have seen this coming.

 

"I never thought I'd see the day that Mickey Milkovich would turn up on my doorstep lookin' like a fairy... And they say birthday wishes don't come true." Lip smirked.

 

"Well, this  _fairy_ can still kick your pansy fuckin' ass so I don't see who you're mocking here, Gallagher." Lip's mouth tensed, the giveaway that the pissing contest was turning in Mickey's favor. He poured himself another cup of coffee just to give himself something to do.

 

"I've done a lot of growing up since then, Milkovich. And it's not like you were all that powerful without your brothers behind you." Lip replied defensively trying entirely too hard to come off dismissive. Mickey laughed a lot harder than was probably necessary, but it was genuine.  _Oh God..._ Gallagher actually thought he stood a chance? No Gallagher, aside from Ian, could even  _touch_ him, and the only reason Ian was the exception was because of his ROTC training. Lip Gallagher had fucking  _nothing_ on the Milkovich survivalist instinct.

 

"Didn't need my brothers. They just happened to be there. Believe me, I could kick your ass  _easy._ I just figured we'd want to at least try gettin' along since we're housemates now." Mickey couldn't help but rub it in. It was too easy with the oldest Gallagher boy. He made it so much fun. "But I guess you're not interested."

 

"You really think you're going to last here long enough to be called a housemate?" Lip asked in a tone that, to anyone else, almost sounded like genuine concern. Mickey knew differently. Lip was starting to play a game. "You haven't exactly been around lately, so let me clue you in on something--Ian's developed somewhat of a short attention span. He tries to make a legitimate relationship work, sure... But no one has really been able to stick. And, last I witnessed you are one of those that just didn't work out. So what's going to be different about this time?" Lip pretended to actually consider it but before he could speak Ian called from the top of the stairs.

 

"Jesus Christ, Lip, leave him alone." Mickey smirked a little at Lip's irritation, smug that Ian was so outwardly on his side for once.

 

Lip rolled his eyes and begrudgingly strode to the coat hooks by the back door, grabbing his overshirt for work.

 

"Fine. You two want to live in this domestic fantasy world pretending that nothing will go wrong, be my guest. But as soon as he gets caught, I'm warning you, Ian, I'm disassociating. I haven't lived here for at least a year and Mickey was still in prison last I heard." Ian, who arrived at the foot of the stairs in the middle of Lip's speech rolled his eyes and eased over to Mickey. He grinned his goofy, shy, grin, revealing the tender feelings fluttering inside him. Mickey grinned back but the full extent of his happiness was more well contained.

 

"Ugh, I sense PDA. I'll see you tonight, I guess." Lip groaned, promptly seeing himself out. Mickey released a tense breath.

 

"You alright?" Ian asked, reaching past Mickey for a coffee mug.

 

"Gonna be an effort not to punch your brother's lights out but what else is new?" Mickey grumbled, trying--and failing--to hide his aggravation.

 

"You'll figure each other out." Ian replied, his optimism grating on Mickey's nerves rather than comforting him. Even so, he couldn't help but spare a glance at the jeans Ian had pulled on or that  _fucking_ henley, goddamn him.

 

"So sure about that, huh?" Mickey griped in disbelief. Ian shrugged.

 

"Don't really have a choice until I can afford to move us somewhere." Ian poured a little splash of creamer and Mickey nearly choked, grabbing back Ian's attention.

 

" _You_ move us somewhere?" Mickey asked incredulously, brows flying to his hairline. Ian's brows furrowed in confusion.

 

"What's wrong? You didn't think we would stay here for the rest of our lives did you?" Ian had the nerve to laugh.

 

"I mean... No but it's not like I really thought about much past this fuckin' week, man. How far have you planned ahead already?" The humor drained from Ian's face at the near panic in Mickey's tone.

 

"What's wrong?"

 

"I just... I didn't think you were thinkin' about all that shit already... I mean I just got here and it's not as though I've got any way to  _help_ you. At least here I'm catching the scraps of six other people. I can blend in, you know? But I can't ask you to pay for me by yourself."

 

"Well, you didn't and you don't. I will until you're able to because that's what people do to help people they love when they can." Ian replied gently. Resentment boiled in Mickey's blood as some accusations brewed in his mouth. Mickey Milkovich did not come all this way to be some fuckin' housewife but that's what it was turning into. Ian's expression strained seeing Mickey's irritation evident on his face. "I guess.... Can we talk about this later?" He suggested, looking at Mickey warily. His aggravated mood almost made him want to keep fighting this out until they came to an understanding... But the worry in Ian's eyes softened Mickey and he nodded. They never exactly got their "honeymoon" phase and Mickey kind of wanted at least the image of one. Ian released a tense sigh but put on a contented mask almost as quickly. "Hungry?" He offered. Mickey shrugged and grabbed his coffee resentfully. "How long's it been since you had banana pancakes?" Ian tempted. Mickey couldn't help but smile though he rolled his eyes, too.

 

"They have Bisquick in Mexico, too, asshole." He teased back and shouldered past Ian playfully.

 

" _Excuse_ me!" Ian replied sarcastically, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Mickey laughed lowly and settled into the chair at the head of the table, his unspoken spot so far.

 

He watched Ian gather everything up and start preparing the batter. They settled into a comfortable silence and stole what could almost be described as shy glances at each other as Ian worked. The shirt Ian had pulled on clung to the rivets in his shoulders and over his chest, and when he turned around to grab the milk, eggs, and skillet, Mickey got brief glances at his back. And was treated to some more of those glances as he started to clean up the mess from the batter while the first round of pancakes sizzled on the skillet.

 

Mickey's eyes traced the tightening and loosening of Ian's muscles and he bit his lip as he admired the form he never thought he would see again. As he watched, the more he remembered the way Ian's arms had felt wrapped around him: how safe, loved, and  _at home_ he had felt while wrapped in Ian's embrace. Ian flipped the first round of pancakes, his attention focused on his task; but Mickey's attention remained tightly focused on Ian's biceps flexing with the simple movement. Mickey's breath suddenly caught as severe  _wanting_ flooded him. It was so unexpected and so random that Mickey was almost confused with himself until he suddenly remembered all of the times he and Ian used to go at each other a day back when they lived together. Mickey thought it had been Ian's hypersexuality... but apparently Ian wasn't all to blame...

 

Ian suddenly looked up at Mickey and grinned.

 

"What?" Ian laughed gently. Mickey raised his knuckle to his nose and rubbed away an imaginary itch, then picked up his coffee and shrugged as he took a long sip. It wasn't as though Mickey was sexually starved, though he was certainly acting like he was. He was no saint while he was away and though it had been a couple of weeks since his last lay before Ian, his need for sex hadn't been  _this_ incessant since the last time he and Ian were together.

 

It was Ian, Mickey decided. When they were together, they were both insatiable. But if Mickey was being really honest with himself, sex with Ian wasn't  _about_ the sex. It was a need to connect, it was how they checked in with each other and knew that they were okay. After so long of not really being able to openly communicate, this was how they learned to communicate and work through any of their issues or express when they were just really fuckin' into each other that day. The sex was everything because it was so much more than just that. And now, it was a confirmation that nothing had changed. The pleasure and sexual release was honestly just a bonus.

 

Ian brought a plate of pancakes over to him with a sweet smile on his face--an overly sweet smile. Like he was saying  _gotcha._

 

"I can see what you're thinking from over there." Ian teased. Mickey glanced up at him through his lashes.

 

"Can you?" Mickey asked, feigning innocence.

 

"Yeah." Ian confirmed in a breath, taking hold of Mickey's hand. Mickey snatched his hand away, though, and roughly cupped Ian's slight bulge. He was mostly soft to Mickey's disappointment. He grimaced up at Ian who rolled his eyes.

 

"I see yours aren't the same." Mickey replied, about to withdraw when Ian cupped his hand. 

 

"Oh, they are." He promised. The feral look in Ian's eyes sent a flush through Mickey and a slight shift under Mickey's fingers made him bite his lip again as another rush of lust flew through him.

 

Sitting down, Mickey was mostly level with Ian's pelvis, and he planned to take advantage.

 

With a sudden burst of confidence, Mickey yanked open the button and tore through the zipper of Ian's jeans with a practiced flare, opened the fabric just enough to pull his still mostly soft dick forward, and wasted absolutely no time in taking the whole thing into his mouth. Ian released a hiss of a breath as Mickey's warm mouth surrounded him, and released a deep breath when Mickey took him all the way. Mickey knew how much Ian loved when Mickey took him soft because he could actually get all 6 inches in without any trouble. Sure, Mickey could take the whole 9 but that took a lot of warm up and precious time that neither of them exactly wanted to spend right now in their frenzied need to get thoroughly reacquainted.

 

Mickey plunged deep down to the base and held there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of Ian's red curls slightly scratching against his nose and the top of his cheeks. He could only hold for a few seconds, though and he withdrew, pleased at the progress Ian had made.

 

"Brought anything with you?" Mickey asked as he stroked him a few times before getting right back to it, luxuriating the feeling of Ian's soft skin on his tongue. Ian stilled and  dug through all four pockets before finally pulling out one condom and one packet of lube. Their lucky day. Mickey smirked and set a determined rhythm as Ian firmed up more under his hand and in his mouth. He took little peeks up at Ian through his lashes every few moments only to smirk around Ian's girth and return to his task, eventually having to palm at himself as his own dick hardened.

 

Back when they were teenagers, Mickey had absolutely refused to suck dick because that was just entirely too  _gay._ Mickey Milkovich would not get on his knees for  _anyone._ Well, that suddenly changed after the first time. He hadn't been exaggerating when he told Terry he fuckin' loved sucking Ian's dick. It was practically his favorite pastime when they lived together because for those ten minutes or so that he was pleasuring Ian, Ian looked at him the whole time almost like he was saying _thank you_ in his head. Like he fucking  _knew_ he should be grateful for the opportunity to have his dick sucked by Mickey Milkovich and it was a strange feeling to appreciate that look. Appreciate being appreciated. Mickey had never wanted to do it before because he thought going to your knees was the most demeaning thing you could do to yourself--but now he knew (with the right person at least) it was actually the biggest rush over power.

 

As Mickey caught his breath, he kissed and licked at the still stiffening shaft, memorizing the shape and the silky texture of his skin. He gave one solid lick from the base to the tip and was about to push back down when Ian pulled back. Mickey was about to ask if there was something wrong when he noticed Ian had raised the corner of the condom package to his lips to tear it open. Mickey bit his lip, breathless again, and stood up so fast and with so much force that the chair scooted almost to the wall. Ian turned Mickey around and didn't even bother to take all of Mickey's clothes off, just bent him right over that kitchen table and pulled just enough of his sweatpants down to expose the area he needed. Mickey grabbed hold of either side of the table, knowing where this was going and being eager as fuck to get there. 

 

Ian also tore open the lube packet and made short work of fingering Mickey open, making sure there was enough lube inside of him. Mickey relaxed his body and absorbed the feeling Ian's fingers gave him as he pressed on some pressure points, even finding his prostate a couple of times causing Mickey to cry out, but Ian was playing games for some reason switching from directly rubbing at his prostate and purposefully avoiding it.

 

"You want me to fuckin' beg or somethin'?" Mickey grumped, pushing back against Ian's  hand to get the point across that he was ready to get this fucking show on the road. Ian chuckled under his breath.

 

"Didn't exactly prep you last time so I want to make sure you're okay before we go." Mickey rolled his eyes. That was bullshit and they both knew it.

 

"I'm good, I'm good, I'm--" Ian withdrew his fingers and used the last of the lube to slick himself up over the condom. Only a moment later, Mickey relaxed his body once again and Ian softly rolled into him, keeping a gentle hold on his waist. The slowness of his progression drew out the most sinful noises from Mickey, who was feeling impatient but knew damn well how important it was to not just start slamming. He groaned though because that was all he wanted right now and didn't want to have to wait.

 

"I know, Mick... Gimme a second." Ian said gently through the haze of his own pleasure at feeling them connected. Ian made small movements that were more about stretching Mickey out, getting him ready, than anything. But the sounds Mickey made in response told Ian that was really just a bonus. " _Fuck, Mick..._ " Ian groaned to Mickey's sounds. He moved one of his hands from Mickey's waist to his shoulder and started experimenting with the depth of his thrusts, pulling out just a little bit more each time and simply rolling his hips back against him. It was gentle but still a solid warning of what was going to come. Mickey was clawing at the sides of the table in impatience but Ian still felt the need to pause to make sure that was actually the reason.

 

"Fucking Christ, Ian I'm just ready to go! Get the fuck  _on_ me!" Mickey cried back. Ian laughed a genuine laugh and moved that hand from his shoulder into his hair which Mickey immediately started to hum at, knowing where it was going. When Ian's fingers tightened in his hair Mickey huffed out a groan and Ian's other hand raised from its hold on Mickey's waist up to his shoulder.

 

"Alright, I was just trying to get you ready." Ian said in a teasing voice.

 

"Well I'm fucking ready a'right?" Mickey grouched and Ian laughed again before kicking up the pace, still not quite to where Mickey wanted it but definitely headed in the right direction. Every time he was fully inside of Mickey, he let out a loud sigh or unabashed moan and every time he withdrew Mickey pushed his own hips forward almost like keeping himself from chasing the feeling, and always sighed in reverence at the reward of being rejoined a second later.

 

"Better?" Ian asked after several thrusts. Mickey couldn't even answer and just groaned especially loud when Ian ground especially long and hard at the base. Mickey pushed back and sighed again, relishing their connection. Ian kept up a steadily increasing pace, his smile growing as steadily from Mickey's rising sighs. Ian released Mickey's hair and pulled back so he was standing straight up and he looked down to watch, transfixed, himself entering Mickey over and over again. Mickey had absolutely no complaints at the change, just continued to push back to keep that sweet friction going.

 

"I want to see you." Ian breathed through slightly panted breath and he paused on an in stroke. Mickey whined at the sudden stop in pace.

 

"You  _can_ see me!" Mickey groaned raising himself up on his elbows to look back.

 

"No, I want to see all of your face" Ian clarified, running his fingertips gently over the swells of Mickey's ass flush against his pelvis.

 

"Well then you fuckin' better figure it out quick or you're gonna have a serious case of blue balls on your hands." Mickey griped. Ian laughed and withdrew completely just slowly enough so Mickey wasn't hurt but quickly enough that Mickey released an involuntary gasp. Ian flipped Mickey around and pushed at his chest indicating Mickey should lay down. He rolled his eyes and shimmied onto the table, laying flat on the surface. Ian smirked and hooked his fingertips around the tops of Mickey's sweat pants and pulled them down and off his legs, exposing Mickey's bottom half completely. Before Mickey could start to complain, Ian picked up Mickey's legs by the calves and hooked them over his shoulders and quickly positioned himself at Mickey's entrance.

 

They each released muffled curses as Ian pushed back in, each appreciating the difference in sensation between the two positions. Ian started off slowly again but picked up the pace quicker this time and Mickey just laid back and took all that Ian was giving. As Ian experimented with his thrusts, he also rubbed at Mickey's thighs, memorizing the feel of his skin, the light dusting of hair tickling his palms, and the shape of their thickness, loving the slight weight on his shoulders. Once he was freely thrusting into Mickey at a decently quick pace, he grabbed one of those thighs and spread it out to the side which punched a sinful moan from Mickey. Once that wave passed, Mickey sat up a little, leaning on his elbows to gain some leverage to push back on Ian's thrusts, throwing his head back as Ian picked up the pace just a little bit more.

 

The pressure was building for them both and they were near desperate for release already but neither really wanted to end it either. Ian pulled Mickey closer to him, sliding his ass to the very edge of the table and leaned in a bit to hint at what he wanted.  _Jesus Christ this guy can't pick a fucking speed!_ Mickey groaned internally as he sat up more to kiss Ian softly, his other leg sliding off Ian's shoulder  so he could. Despite Mickey's internal groan, Ian didn't slow his pace as he took his lips and kissed him sweetly. He cupped his hand around the back of Mickey's head, cradling it and pulling him in deeper for just a moment before they broke their kiss to refocus on their task. For a few moments, Mickey dropped his forehead to Ian's shoulder, nearly cuddling into Ian as they worked together. One of Ian's hands rested on the table for balance but the other moved over Mickey's back and waist to draw him in closer. Ian kissed the shell of Mickey's ear, lightly tonguing the skin and Mickey damn near whimpered but he bit his lip to prevent the sound from becoming more than a general moan. Mickey hands were planted firmly behind him, holding himself up as Ian's free hand drifted to Mickey's thigh, yanking him even closer and opening him up further for an even deeper thrust. Mickey soon wrapped his legs firmly around Ian's waist and leaned back to give better access, motioning for him to get the show going. Ian smirked and pulled nearly all the way out, pausing for just a second before pounding back in and setting a punishing rhythm. Mickey gasped and dropped back flat on the table as Ian continued picking up the pace, Mickey's heels pressing into his hips and back to propel him forward. With each snap of Ian's hips Mickey felt himself pushing closer and closer to figurative edge and he drove himself back on Ian's movement chasing that high. Ian planted both of his hands on either side of Mickey's chest and pounded into his as fast and deep as he could. Mickey couldn't help but release some of the most uncharacteristic sounds he had ever uttered as he strained to not touch himself. Finally, the urge became too much and he took himself in his hand, stroking in time to Ian's punishing thrusts. Ian laughed gently through his panted breaths and watched as he entered Mickey over and over again. 

 

Before either of them were quite prepared for it, release barreled through Mickey and with a loud groan he came over his chest, staining Ian's shirt he borrowed. Ian came seconds later, slamming in to the hilt and groaning deeply as his own release wracked his body. Their pants seemed to echo in the sudden stillness as they basked in the wonder at what they just did. Mickey grinned broadly as he came down from his high, loving the feeling of Ian still inside of him even minutes after they were both done. Too soon, though, Ian pulled out and Mickey almost pouted. But Ian didn't go anywhere, just pulled out and pressed his hips back against Mickey's ass and started running his fingertips over Mickey's stomach--stroking up his abdomen and pushing the shirt up so he could continue massaging Mickey's front. Mickey sighed in contentment as Ian just explored Mickey's body in silence almost like a kind of after care though. Mickey's legs still hung strong around Ian's waist and Ian began stroking his thighs, relaxing him, reminding him that his legs were there and any moment now they might start to get sore. Instead of dropping them, Mickey sat up so their faces were nearly level, struggling to keep his back straight in his boneless state. Ian laughed at him a little bit and pulled him in for a kiss.

 

The kiss was tender and a startling difference from the pace they'd just had going a moment before but Mickey followed along happily. He even reached up to hold the back of Ian's head as he kissed him, introducing some tongue just to be a tease. Ian pulled back and laughed but didn't give either of them a chance to speak before reaching down to kiss him again.

 

It was sickeningly sweet and Mickey was somewhat disgusted with himself, but he was also so radiantly happy that the self-ass-kicking was completely worth it. 

 

Once they finally drew back from each other, Ian sighed and looked at the cold plate of pancakes on the bar and the batter sitting beside a mostly cooled skillet. He laughed at the sight and then looked back at Mickey who's brows furrowed and Ian's sudden amusement.

 

"So, uh... Breakfast is almost ready." Ian murmured, trying to sound like he didn't just bang his boyfriend on the dining room table. He deftly removed the condom and tossed it into the kitchen trash can before zipping up and took Mickey's face in his hands one more time, kissing him chastely, before returning to his spot in the kitchen to reheat the cold pancakes and finish making the remaining batter. Mickey grabbed the sweatpants off the ground and yanked them back on with all of the dignity he could manage. Not that there was anything to feel undignified about around Ian, he just had wobbly legs and Mickey Milkovich did not get weak kneed around anyone, not even  _the_ Ian Gallagher.

 

/////

 

They spent the rest of the morning talking and it was the most they had ever talked. More than when Ian moved into the Milkovich house, more than when Ian came back from the army, more than either of the times Mickey came back from juvie. This time, Mickey gave a small run-down of where he'd been and what he had done, but he didn't want to go into a lot of details. When Ian looked disappointed  at Mickey's apparent secrecy, Mickey took Ian's hand in his and made him look at him.

 

"It's not you, man. I just... Don't want to think about that shit, a'right? That shit fuckin' sucked, it wasn't a party and I don't want to chat it up with you like it was. Stories'll come out over time, I guess. I just... I don' wanna dwell." Ian still looked disappointed by this answer but nodded and kissed Mickey softly. Ian stood to get ready for work and Mickey immediately felt like the fuckin' housewife. The feeling didn't sit well.

 

"Want me to help you with those?" Ian asked, gesturing to their syrupy plates.

 

"Nah, man, you're good." Mickey replied simply gathering their dishes and making his way over to his  _spot_ in the family now. Fuckin' stay-at-home-Mr. Mom.

 

By the time he finished cleaning everything up, (even scrounged up some Windex to wipe down the dining room table) Ian was bounding down the stairs, uniform on, hair not quite dry, buttoning the last of his shirt up.

 

"Sorry, man. I'll get it next time!" Ian promised, pulling on his backpack and pocketing his wallet. Mickey shook his head genuinely.

 

"You cook, I clear. Them's the rules..." Mickey replied as lightheartedly as he could. Ian stopped what he was doing and looked at Mickey, brows furrowing after examining his face for a moment.

 

"You okay?" He asked, gently making his way over to him. Mickey's brows shot up in confusion.

 

"Fine, why?" Ian examined his face a moment longer.

 

"I don't want you being unhappy here. I mean... why even come back for me if you're more miserable here than you were there?" 

 

"I ain't miserable. I just fuckin' got here." Mickey tried to keep his grumpiness to a minimum because adding that Milkovich bite wouldn't exactly prove his point but apparently too much shone through and Ian didn't look like he believed him.

 

"I just... I need you to talk to me, okay? Let me know how you're feeling about everything. There's not a lot we can do but... That's no reason for you to be miserable, either."

 

"I  _ain't_ miserable." Mickey insisted. Ian looked at him a long time before finally nodding and kissing him briefly. He bustled away leaving Mickey feeling bereft from Ian's sudden departure. Ian was leaving for the day and Mickey's first day as servant to the Gallaghers was beginning. A little piece of him was screaming that this was bullshit, that he shouldn't have come back for  _this._ That he should have insisted he find somewhere else to be a state over or something. Somewhere that he wouldn't be recognized as easily and he and Ian could meet up or some shit. But he committed and Ian committed... and fuck if he was going to be the one to mess that up.

 

"I'll be back around the same time tonight, alright? If you want me to pick you up anything you can do while you're here just text me or somethin'." Ian called over his shoulder as he walked to the front door. Mickey called back an affirmation but he didn't think Ian was really listening for it. Once that door shut, Mickey was alone. Completely alone. In the Gallagher's house.

 

It was so strange how this building that had felt like home for the past couple of hours suddenly reminded him of the alley he slept in a couple of times when he had nowhere to go. He nearly shivered at the weird feeling, but cast it away quickly and got to work on the task Fiona gave him--needing to prove his worth to the family ( _again)_ so that maybe...  _maybe_ the next few years of his life wouldn't be a complete and utter shit show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has asked about Righting a Wrong and my other works! I'm sorry it takes so long but I really appreciate everyone understanding my busy schedule. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter and please, please leave comments and kudos! I'm a huge comments ho so please leave them in excess! <3
> 
> I was so excited to get this out to y'all that I didn't proof read it too hard so if there's any weird sentences or glaring typos those will be fixed when I make myself go back over it xD


	8. Prima Die Pars II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey's first day in the Gallagher house... alone...

Mickey finished the laundry quickly—even folded everyone's shit because, well, he had the time... But he did it in his usual snarky style—not that anyone was around to witness the snark... Especially when it came to the female's clothes Mickey criticized just about every piece he touched. Everything was fucking lace and silk (or really conveniently soft cotton) and probably had a delicates only tag. Fuck that shit. He wasn't separating shit by anything more than light and dark and no reds in with the whites. That was all of the courtesy he owed and that was all he was giving.

He always knew when he found something of Ian's... The guy's style had only gotten louder over the past year but it was still his dorky style.

Once his main chore was done he finally decided to shower—using _his_ share of the toiletries, thank you very much and borrowed more of Ian's clothes, regretting not throwing his own in the laundry with everyone else's. _Oh well._ When he and Ian lived together they borrowed from each other all of the time, basically just sharing a wardrobe. Mickey was the one who got most of the benefit since _he_ could shorten Ian's jeans but Ian couldn't _lengthen_ his. He smirked as he pulled some jeans on, cuffing the bottoms, and shrugging into one of Ian's flannels. It'd been a good long while since he'd been somewhere mild enough to wear the thick variety of flannel Ian usually preferred.

Even though he was still a little miffed that Ian seemed to look at him as a fuckin' house wife already, wearing Ian's clothes still brought a smile to Mickey's face and a warm feeling in his stomach. He sniffed the collar and sleeve and (uncharacteristically) hummed. Even though Ian had changed his usual cologne/deodorant combination from when they lived together he still smiled like _Ian_ and knowing that—that so much could change and yet everything still be okay—was comforting as _fuck._

He paced the house for about an hour trying to find something to do. Mickey Milkovich was no one's fucking maid or nanny but that sure was what he was turning out to be, fuck it all. He rolled his eyes and groaned deep, aggravated at himself that he officially had nothing else better to do than clean the living room--and yet he refused. He had a fucking point to make dammit and he was going to make it.

He switched on the TV and flipped through some channels but nothing was really on that caught his interest. TV had never really been Mickey's thing unless he had someone to watch with. Channel surfing started to give him a headache from all of the flashing images and trying to make sense of a drama here or muster up the capacity to give a shit about a nature show there... so he just shut the damned thing off and lay on the couch for the next few hours. After several hours of silence, alone with his own thoughts and worries, Mickey was ready for _any_ noise. At least when he had been alone in Mexico he could be sitting in a shaded alley or dark corner of a restaurant and listen to conversations, learning Spanish by piecing together what what he didn't know with what he did.

He was turning to run for the Gallagher-defense stick (the stupid fucking bat since apparently Gallagher's were too chicken shit to stock the house with even one legit piece) when he realized it was just Debbie. She paused after slamming the door, frozen by his presence.

“Mickey?” She exclaimed, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

 “Uh... Hey, Debbie.” Mickey muttered awkwardly.

“I guess you took Ian's call then, huh?” She smirked knowingly, adjusting the baby on her hip as she approached.

“Ian talked to you?” He asked a little incredulous. It wasn't that Ian ever talked smack about Debbie, but he didn't exactly say anything about her at all. He took a seat on the couch and she crossed in front of him to claim her seat in the armchair next to him. She nodded and adjusted the baby so both redheads were looking at him. “He told me you had a kid...” He finally said after an awkward silence. She nodded again.

“She'll be one next month,” she replied proudly. He nodded and they settled into another silence, this one a little easier. He watched the kid, a little girl, who was watching him as well. As they stared at each other, he felt more and more nervous as guilt crowded his stomach.

He knew he should be checking up on Yev, but he couldn't help but feel his absence was probably the greatest gift he'd ever given the kid. And here was another kid—a kid who looked like Ian and reminded him of stupid dreams that were officially impossible. Dreams that he and Ian had shared back when things were happier, easier, freer. It was probably a topic he should bring up with Ian.... but he didn't want to give Ian any more reasons to push him away for good. It was selfish of him, but Mickey wanted to absorb as much time with Ian as possible before they realized this arrangement could only ever be temporary. Ian wanted a family—he always had—and even though Mickey had wanted to give him that, he simply couldn't (in more ways than one).

The little girl furrowed her brows at him like she was trying to look angry at him, so he returned the look and she smiled broadly, even laughed like Yev used to when he did the same thing to him. Debbie smiled warmly and tried to pass the baby along but Mickey leaned back out of the way. Debbie's lip twitched in apprehension and she readjusted the kid on her lap again.

“You must miss Yevgeny.” Debbie murmured softly. Mickey's brows furrowed genuinely this time. She looked so compassionate, so sympathetic, he couldn't even snap at her. Instead he shrugged.

“Hard to miss him when he didn't really do anything when I was around him. Besides, he wouldn't even remember me.” Debbie frowned.

“You don't want to see him?”

“No.” Mickey replied a little sharply, the tone of finality hopefully shutting her up. She nodded slowly, carefully, and they settled into another uneasy silence. The kid reached an arm out and whined sharply, jarring Mickey from a slight trance. Mickey's eyes bugged in surprise and Debbie laughed.

“She wants you!” She cooed and sat up again to pass the kid along. Mickey's brows furrowed in indignation.

“The fuck she does! She's never even seen me before!” Debbie shrugged again and the kid jerked forward so fast she nearly toppled out of Debbie's arms. As Debbie tightened her hold around the baby, Mickey burst forward from his spot on the couch and cupped his hands as if to catch her. With Debbie's reflexes though, the kid just clapped her hands in Mickey's. Debbie released a panicked breath and sat back in the chair with the fussy baby refusing to let go of Mickey's finger.

As Mickey tried to lean back too, the little milksucker whined louder and louder growing more and more distressed.

“Damn it, kid, let go!” Mickey grumbled pulling his finger away gently but firmly.

“Don't cuss at her! She just wants you!” Debbie laughed, finally reaching to release the child's grip on Mickey's finger. Mickey just grumbled under his breath and jolted up from his seat as soon as the connection broke. This got the kid to start wailing like she'd been hit.

“ _Jesus!_ Fuck!” Mickey groaned and left the room in a hurry. It was time to figure out dinner. Debbie immediately followed which Mickey realized when he turned from the fridge to find her sitting, baby fussing on the table. He turned back to the fridge and rolled his eyes at the kid still screaming in scorn. When he found the ingredients for trash American style enchiladas he called it good and pulled everything to the counter to get started. The baby was still arching towards him grasping her fists in the air pleading for him.  _What the actual fuck?_ Why would this kid be so enamored with him? He wasn't around her while Debbie was pregnant or at any stage in the kid's life but this kid was acting as though she thought  _he_ was her own father! He chose to pointedly ignore both of them.

"She's never acted like this before..." Debbie remarked under her breath, trying to wrestle the fussy baby to a soothing hold. Mickey snorted but kept working. As he worked, she kept bouncing the baby trying to get her to settle down and after three more minutes of crying, Mickey glared at Debbie. "Alright, Franny... Let's put you down, maybe." She finally suggested in a forced bright voice. Mickey released a sigh of relief as she climbed the stairs, the wailing fading with every step she took and finally muted once she shut her bedroom door. She was fast, though, and rejoined Mickey in the kitchen as soon as the baby was in the crib.

"She really doesn't get that fussy, I don't get it." She sighed, settling on a bar stool. Mickey shrugged and scraped the strips of raw chicken into the pan of hot oil, the sizzling meat releasing a mouthwatering aroma almost immediately. She watched him arrange the pieces in the oil but remained silent. Finally after several minutes Mickey looked up to her and arched his brows almost as if saying  _may I help you?_ She blew out a rushed breath and averted her eyes, biting her lip.

"I know this is, like, super stupid and you're totally going to say no...but I have to ask--" Mickey's brows furrowed in confusion. "I just got my welding certification and the pay is going to be great but I need to find regular work before I see it and most apprenticeships are unpaid... But I need a babysitter to find regular work..."

"No fucking way!" Mickey almost shouted. She sagged but didn't fight.

"I just... I had to ask." Mickey's body bristled with irritation.

"I'm not a goddamned stay-at-home Mom, a'right? I'll cook and fix broken shit around here to earn my keep and keep my hands busy but I ain't a nanny or housecleaning service!"

"I'd pay you!" Debbie insisted. Mickey paused and bit his lip. "I know... You don't really know me anymore and you've only  _just_ met Franny and... You're right, you're not a babysitting service or stay-at-home parent. I just... I really need some  _help_." Her voice cracked on the last word and Mickey rolled his eyes.  _No. Tears._ She sniffled and met his eyes confidently. "Her dad skipped out on me and Fiona won't help me--even pushed me into finding a sugar daddy because I couldn't pay her 'rent.'" Mickey scowled.  

"Rent?" He demanded. Debbie nodded solemnly. "Ian didn't tell me about that."

"Well he has a regular job that pays well so the rent wasn't an issue for him. Not as much as being told that Fiona is on the bottom of our emergency contact list." She snorted. Fury flamed through Mickey's core and into his arms. He wanted to slug something. What kind of fucking family  _was_ this anymore? Last he'd seen everyone pitched in what they could and took care of each other no matter what. The way things were running now it was almost like a better organized Milkovich house. Mickey huffed and rubbed irritably at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and flipped the chicken. How was she going to go through all of the effort of adopting her siblings just to tell them to fuck off when they're just BARELY of age?  _Whatever,_ Mickey sighed and tried to let it all roll off. The Gallaghers were doing him a favor by letting him stay here and this shit happened months ago... He'd just have to stay out of it and do what he could to help. 

Debbie stayed silent and watching him prepare the main baking dish. It was a little unnerving, not to mention annoying, but he let her stay there just so he could have human company for a little while longer before he was left completely by himself.  _Again._

Well... He didn't  _have_ to be by himself. He could have the rugrat to watch. But that was a lot of responsibility and  _not_ _his_ responsibility! 

He pulled the chicken out of the pan to drain on a small stack of paper towels before compiling the dish. As he did so, he considered his first day so far. It was boring as fuck, not to mention lonely, and honestly made him question for a moment why the fuck he came back. He had known that he would need to stay hidden, had known that going outside during daylight hours would be a bad idea. Had known that Ian would likely be gone most of the day...

He could sleep all day while Ian was at work... But then Ian wouldn't get any sleep if he felt obligated to stay up with him. Or... He could just fuckin' suck it up and take the kid for something to fuckin' do. Mickey slid the pan into the oven, set the timer, and leaned against the counter, meeting Debbie's eyes straight on.

"How many days a week?" Debbie's cheeks flushed a little in excitement as she fought not to smile.

"Three or four?"

"How many hours at a time?" Debbie shrank and murmured "about 12." Mickey's brows shot up.

"I know, it's a lot, but a lot of it you'll still be sleeping and then I'll get home mid-afternoon so you and Ian can spend nights together! And I promise it'll only be four days a week tops. My boss knows about Franny and that I can't work  _full_ full-time." Mickey sighed roughly. As much as he  _really_ didn't want to look after a kid, and even less after a kid that wasn't his but  _looked_ like Ian anyway, he also couldn't handle being cooped up in the house all fucking day with nothing to do. And he couldn't go the rest of his life without some sort of money.

"How much you thinkin' of paying?" He asked gruffly. She bit her lip trying not to get too excited.

"$80 a week?" Mickey exhaled again. That was a lot of work for significantly less than minimum wage. But she really couldn't afford more than that, he guessed, otherwise she'd already have a solution. "Just until the money starts flowing in and then I'll pay you what I can, I promise!" Mickey examined her face and realized how much she had changed since he last saw her... but also how much she hadn't. She was a kid playing dress-up as an adult and was fucking floundering. And that absolutely struck a chord. He too knew how it felt to be thrust into responsibility entirely too soon. 

"Fine. But if I tell you the kid is too much, you're finding another babysitter." Debbie nodded enthusiastically.

"Thank you so much, Mickey! Thank you, thank you!" She stood up to run to hug him but he held his hands out, insisting it wasn't necessary. She just grinned at him and backed away cautiously. "I really, really don't know what I would do without you." Debbie sighed, trying and failing to hide her relief. It almost made Mickey feel good because he could see how important this was to her. Sadly the kid got under his skin a little bit for looking so much like Ian.

"Don't thank me, just fork up the cash on time every week or it's cut off." Debbie nodded solemnly. His heart sank a little at her dejected look but he refused to be swayed. Gallaghers were nothing but fucking trouble and after everything he went through for Debbie in particular he wasn't feeling very touchy-feely with them just yet. Maybe in time.

He quickly crossed the kitchen and climbed the stairs two at a time to put distance between them, running to Ian's room before the situation could get any more awkward.

 

///////

 

Even after the timer went off Mickey didn't want to get out of Ian's bed. His phone was once again fully charged but he didn't have much to do with it. He played a game or two but got bored quickly so mostly dozed, the alarm for the food breaking him out of a long trance. After another few minutes though he knew he had to get up before dinner was ruined. As he sat up he heard a creaking that could have been the bed... but definitely sounded distant.

Debbie was helping him?

He carefully closed the door behind him and slid easily down the stairs, the rich aroma of the chicken and cheese had warmed the kitchen and welcomed him at the foot of the stairs. Fiona settled the glass dish on the top of the stove, the oven door creaking closed. She had an easy smile on her face, which combined with the warmth of hot food the kitchen appeared brighter somehow in significant contrast from the hard coldness of this morning.

Fiona turned her bright smile to him and inhaled deeply, almost theatrically.

 _A for effort_ Mickey thought withholding his urge to roll his eyes as theatrically.

"Whoa, Mickey! It smells amazing in here!" He also chose to ignore the genuine shock in her voice and simply accepted the compliment as paid.

"We've got rice and corn to go with that," Fiona stated casually (or at least it was a forced  _attempt_ at sounding casual).

"Yeah, I figured." Mickey responded though he had hoped to find something more authentic considering the main dish was already Americanized as fuck. Fiona busied herself with a pot of water and opening the box of rice.

With Fiona officially taking over Mickey chose to sit at his spot and wait for a request for help.

It was an awkward silence but an improvement over the incredible hostility of this morning. Mickey was about to wander into the living room to see if he could locate the munchkin or Teen Mom when Ian entered through the back door looking  _elated._ Almost as if he'd convinced himself over the past nine hours that Mickey would leave or it would turn out none of it was true to begin with.

As usual, the goofy redhead's smile was infectious and Mickey fought to hide his own smile. As usual, he failed. And he knew he failed. And fuck if he even cared.

Ian sidled up to his side and continued smiling in that geeky way that simultaneously makes Mickey roll his eyes and grin as awkwardly.

"Hey," Ian greeted sweetly.

 _Hey,_ Mickey mouthed back. Ian chuckled giddily and laid a light peck on his lips which was a shock to Mickey's system since they always refrained from PDA back in the day. He could see Fiona out of the corner of his eye busying herself with acting as though she wasn't watching their moment. He couldn't get a read on how she felt about the display--but as soon as he began considering he remembered he didn't give a flying fuck  _what_ she thought and dropped the question.

"So how was your first day?" Ian asked so lightheartedly the question  _almost_ missed grazing a nerve. Almost.

 _How was your first day?_ As though this was a fucking job.

 _That's right..._ Mickey thought bitterly.  _I'm a fucking housewife now._ Instead of laying his irritation out on the table, though, he kept that shit locked down to avoid giving Fiona the satisfaction and shrugged. Ian shrugged back, a painfully oblivious smile on his face. Mickey's chest tightened with guilt. Ian was being adorably playful and was so obviously blissfully happy to have Mickey back... But all Mickey felt in this moment was trapped, and as a result resentment.

"Well, he made these amazing looking enchiladas and did all of the laundry so I'd say so far so good!" Fiona perked up. This time, Mickey couldn't hold back his eyeroll.

Okay, so now Mickey was simultaneously a housewife, a babysitting service, and a maid service; the latter of which warranted performance audits. Excellent.

"I told you he'd be fine!" Ian boasted with a light laugh and Fiona rolled her eyes, the first genuine motion she'd made around Mickey since their clash that morning.

"Dinner's ready in a few minutes. Mickey--set the table?" The request was a thinly veiled demand and it took all of his restraint not to give a sarcastic response to point it out. He had to be a team player for now. Once things settled things would change.

.....

Mickey hadn't been entirely sure what to expect while he'd made the journey back across the border--dodging in and out of alleyways, chancing some bars for cheap food and completely bypassing others, sticking to the shadiest areas he could find to avoid recognition. When he'd heard the voicemail from Ian his decision had been snap, easy. No formal thought went into the decision. He found a guy to get him across the border and for the next week took his time working his way up to Chicago mostly by foot but also by stowing away on a couple of trains, jumping off when he realized it was about to veer in the wrong direction--even managed to hide in the back of a couple of trucks and somehow was able to sneak out of the trailer when the trucker got to a weigh station. The whole time he worked his way north all he could think of was the good old days with Ian... The laughter, the fights... how nothing felt like everything and everything felt so simple. 

Everything with Ian  _was_ simple. He loved him and they were going to make it. It was that simple. Anything standing in their way of that simple fact just needed to be taken down and the other simple part was his knowing that once that obstacle was gone, they'd go back to their goofiness and would make stupid jokes about how ______ dared to try to get in their way. Anything stupid enough to try to get in their way deserved to be dragged the fuck out of because they were infinite. They would always find a way.

But sitting here at the dinner table feeling at once claustrophobic and painfully isolated... this was not something he had expected and this was  _not_ simple. His position severely limited his options. He couldn't even go out into broad  _daylight_ for christssake! And Mickey wasn't exactly in a position to complain and yet everything was  _so_ fuckin' different it was hard to feel anything but irritation at how this all was playing out.

Phillip breezed in midway through the meal and glared daggers at Mickey but even that didn't give Mickey any direction to place his irritation because apart from Lip's entry to the home he then blatantly ignored him. Without the irritable banter the Gallaghers chatted away about nothing and Mickey mostly just sat in silence tuning everyone out. His irritation mounted to its peak, however, when as each Gallagher finished their meal they just abandoned the table, leaving their mess behind for Mickey to sort out.

This was what Fiona had set forth as the arrangement and yet he didn't think the Gallaghers would be such  _brats_ about it. As was becoming his new way, he bit his tongue--literally-- and collected the plates.

"Hey, let me help you with that..." Ian murmured gently and collected the other half of the plates. Mickey huffed his appreciation still not trusting his tongue. Ian scraped the plates while Mickey washed and then Ian dried and put everything away, all the while blabbing away about the good ole days and his funniest calls since he became an EMT.

Midway through the process of washing everything Lip strolled through the kitchen and took in the scene, a smirk on his face, but didn't say anything and simply crossed through the room to wherever he was headed. This silenced Ian as the pointed interaction and Mickey's pointed silence seemed to finally pierce Ian's oblivious happiness.

Mickey dried his hands on a clean towel and leaned against the counter facing Ian, who leaned against the fridge with a worried look on his face. After a long silence that started to weigh in Mickey's stomach he raised his eyebrows to ask  _Yeah, what? Spit it out._

"Tell me what's up." Ian asked gently.

"Nothing's  _up._ " Mickey replied a little to sharply to be convincing.

"You haven't had a cigarette since this morning..." Ian realized aloud. Mickey nodded silently, not about to correct Ian that though the cigarette would be appreciated, it wouldn't take an ounce of the true source of his irritation away. Ian bound up the stairs, leaving Mickey down in the kitchen alone. He took a deep breath to collect himself, to remind himself that this was going to be his life and though it hadn't been what he'd expected, it should have been. What he hadn't expected to bother him so much was how this situation was going to make him feel... Like a housewife depending on her husband and having nothing better to do than watch after the house and do his laundry and cook his meals and watch after ungrateful brats (adult brats included). He just had to hold on and give this arrangement a chance. And remind himself that though he felt this way Ian and probably even Fiona didn't see it the same way. This was just what had to be done.

Ian returned with two cigarettes and a lighter, changed into a pair of sweatpants and a light sweatshirt. 

"Inside or out?" Ian asked, body swaying to turn to the door and kitchen, door and kitchen. Mickey trudged over to him and picked one cigarette out of his hand and put it between his lips, practically demanding it already be lit. Ian smirked at his grump and lit the end. Mickey breathed in deep and let the smoke settle deep in his lungs before releasing it all in a rushed huff. Ian lit his own and followed Mickey's lead to the table. They smoked in silence until Mickey's cigarette was gone and Ian passed the last of his over for Mickey to finish that one too. Mickey gave him a grateful look as he accepted it without a word.

"You planning on speaking at all tonight?" Ian asked with a twinge of humor, but not enough to cover the concern in his voice. 

"Just haven't had anything to say I guess." Mickey replied. Ian narrowed his eyes. "What? I've probably said more to you in the past two days than I have to anyone in two fuckin' years!" Mickey threw in a laugh though that approximation was more about truth than humor. Ian laughed too, but it was shallow.

"Sorry it's a bit boring around here... But I have ways of keeping you entertained when I  _am_ here." Mickey rolled his eyes and worked to hide his answering smirk.

"I'm not just here to cook and clean for you and fuck whenever you feel like it, Gallagher." Mickey snipped playfully. Ian bit his lip to contain his smile.

"Well, fuck. The marriage is off, then!" Still fighting to contain his laughter, Ian sat waiting for Mickey's rebuttal... but it never came to him. They sat in an intense silence feeling as though the pause button had been pressed and each man was waiting for the other to press play. As  Mickey examined Ian's face, he decided he would just have to hold on until things settled down for him to judge if he could or could not do this. It was his first day in the house and everyone was on edge because no one, besides Ian, seemed to know how this whole arrangement was going to play out. Mickey could be patient. He waited three goddamned years for Ian to finally chase after him and let him know that he still wanted  _them_ , so really what was another couple of weeks to figure out their living arrangement? And he didn't  _have_ to feel like a homemaker if he didn't want to... He'd just put his little spin on the situation, let everyone around him know that he's as much a member of this household as the next person and would not be taken for granted like his reason for living is caring for Gallaghers.

In the meantime he didn't mind servicing  _one_ Gallagher... provided the favor was returned...

In a burst of energy, Mickey jumped up from his chair and grabbed at Ian's shirt, dragging him out of his own seat to press their lips firmly together. Ian's smile loosened Mickey's hold on him but he would not be deterred and clutched him to him. Ian started walking him backwards and before Mickey knew it, Ian had picked him up again and Mickey's legs remained wrapped around Ian's waist for most of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how many people are still interested in reading, but as always I hope you all enjoy it and please don't forget to tip your writer with kudos and constructive feedback :)


	9. Tempus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of weeks have gone by and things are starting to settle down around here.  
> Except... there's just one thing keeping the house one inch from imploding.

Though it's been two weeks, there were still so many moments where this felt so unreal that Ian almost forgot it  _was_ real.

Mickey. Was. Here.

In his house. 

In his bed!

They cuddled every night and had breakfast together every morning, dinner together every night. They stayed up late after everyone else in the house was long asleep and just... existed together. They breathed each other's air, they tasted each other's skin, they memorized each other's faces and bodies. Ian  _hugged_ Mickey regardless of who saw and held on. And for once, Mickey didn't act weirded out when he wanted this prolonged display of affection, not even if the whole Gallagher clan surrounded them. In fact, Mickey always gripped him back as though he had been wondering what was taking Ian so long between embraces. They were simply  _basking_ in each other for the few hours they had to themselves. Ian was determined: he would  _never_ take Mickey for granted again. Every single  _second_ would be cherished.

Which is what led him to his current position between Mickey's legs at four in the morning. It'd been two weeks and Mickey had so far insisted that if they weren't fucking he wasn't interested, but he'd blow Ian because that apparently "made sense" to get Ian hard and ready to go (a point he currently rolled his eyes at for remembering.) He was doing this for  _his_ pleasure as much as Mickey's dammit, and he was going to make his point.

Mickey groaned in his sleep as Ian enveloped him in his mouth, massaging the underside with his tongue. Slowly, Mickey stirred as Ian picked up his rhythm.

"The fuck, man?" Mickey groaned deep, sleep muffling his voice... and yet he thrust his hips forward and spread his legs wider. Ian smirked.

"Mind?" Ian asked coyly. He could practically hear Mickey's eyeroll as he sat up on his elbows. Ian had stopped, wanting Mickey's full consent before continuing. Mickey's sleep-filled eyes gazed groggily through half-hooded lids as he assessed what exactly the hell was going on. He grunted in confusion after a moment.

"Mind if I continue?"

"Nah, naw, go ahead..." Mickey grumbled as he fell back flat on the mattress. Ian chuckled lightly to himself before readjusting Mickey in his hand and getting back to work. 

...

"Am I going to have to coax you into it every time I wanna suck you off?" Ian asked light-heartedly as he wiped his mouth. Mickey was definitely wide awake now (finally) and he rolled his eyes as he made room for Ian to lie down beside him again.

"Hey, we're gonna have plenty of time for that shit. I missed the fuckin' more than I did the head."

"What, I don't give good enough head?" Mickey chuckled darkly and covered his face with his hand. Ian grinned wickedly. He'd made Mickey Milkovich blush and he knew it even if he couldn't see it.

"You give great head. It's just... the fuckin' is the main attraction and that's what I missed most." To avoid addressing the emotional twinge in Mickey's voice, Ian continued the lighter banter.

"Okay, and I missed the other stuff, too. I happen to  _like_ suckin dick. Kinda runs with the 'gay' territory." Well... Ian had intended for it to be lighthearted banter, but Mickey suddenly looked serious. Before he could say anything though, Mickey flipped over, lifted up to his knees, and tore at Ian's boxers. At his still straining erection, Mickey looked relieved--not just happy, not just expectant... fucking _relieved_ \-- and moved to straddle his lap. Ian reached into the side table drawer and pulled out a condom and their lube before they got too far. Mickey quickly rolled the condom on and would have mounted Ian right there if Ian hadn't reached around to spread some lube over Mickey's opening. Mickey groaned as Ian spread the gel liberally but he cut Ian off and removed Ian's fingers, hovering over Ian's tip and finally sank down before Ian could object to him not being fully prepped. Ian would have been concerned if not for the absolute blissed out expression on Mickey's face. It was exactly as Ian had dreamed it a month ago. Ian sat up and wrapped his arms around Mickey's back, steadying him securely in his arms. 

Every time they connected Mickey seemed to lose sense of space as he just closed his eyes and  _felt._ Ian understood completely, but he was more a visual person and so while Mickey closed his eyes and absorbed the feels--the touch, the emotions, the rhythms--Ian kept his eyes open almost as though double, triple checking that the person in front of him was absolutely Mickey.

While their usual MO was getting straight to the fucking, here Mickey stopped once Ian bottomed out for a long, long moment. In the quiet, Ian heard Mickey's panted breaths... which confused Ian because... they hadn't even done anything yet... Mickey tightened his hold around Ian, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pressing the insides of his thighs against the outsides of Ian's. Ian just held him tighter, giving Mickey all the time he needed as Mickey slowly trailed his fingers through Ian's grown out hair at the back of his head. 

"Mick?" Ian murmured into the quiet. Mickey slowly shimmied his hips in response, clearly not up for talking. Ian knew he probably should have stopped him to ask again, to push for him to talk to him... but he didn't want to push him into a discussion he wasn't ready for. Though a sense of foreboding sank into his gut as he realized Mickey was hiding something. The past two weeks had seemed so simple, Mickey had seemed to be accepting everything in stride and seemed so unbothered, even by his unexpected task of babysitting... Was Ian wrong? Or maybe Mickey was just feeling particularly sentimental because it was four-thirty in the morning?

As Mickey set a slow, thorough, and steady rhythm Ian ensured his arms were always wrapped securely around Mickey. Even if there was something he needed to say that he was holding back... Mickey was going to feel nothing short of supported and loved until he finally decided to say what was on his mind. Mickey slowly sank Ian back onto the mattress, his forehead pressed to Ian's cheat as he continued to move. As Mickey picked up his speed, though he sat back up, raising as far as his legs would allow before sinking back down, meeting Ian's thrusts powerfully. Even as Mickey put distance between them Ian always maintained contact--one arm slung around the blonde's hip, gripping his back or opposite side with a big hand and other hand touching  _at least_ a knee as he propped himself up to maintain consistent contact.

In the dim light cast through the cracks in the closed blinds Ian was practically star-struck by Mickey's beauty--the near blue light from the moon highlighting the angles in his face and dips in his abdomen. Mickey's eyes remained closed the entire time as though he was simultaneously lost in the movement and focused on it. Though his sounds were as alluring as always and Ian had no doubt that Mickey was completely present with him, he still wondered if something actually was going on in the blonde's head that he wasn't sharing... Worry stirred in his gut as Mickey finally opened his eyes to convey to Ian that he was close.

Without losing a beat he rolled them over and propped his legs over his own thighs, nestling the back of his knees in the crooks of his elbows, and maintained the speed Mickey had sustained over top of him. Mickey's head was thrown back and his hands twisted in his pillow and the sheets. Their muted grunts filled the space of their little room. Ian dropped adoring kisses across Mickey's throat and into his neck. Mickey in response released his grip in the sheets and curled one hand over Ian's shoulder while haphazardly throwing the other across his back, nails digging into his side. Mickey crushed his face into Ian's chest, nearly growling at the effort to keep his moans muted, which inspired Ian to kiss Mickey's head, encouraging him to kiss him. He released Mickey's legs, which then wrapped securely around Ian's waist, and ran a gentle hand through Mickey's hair as they kissed roughly. Ian seemed to brush his prostate as Mickey jerked and released an incredibly loud breath. Ian laughed under his breath at Mickey's following attempt to quiet himself again. Mickey came unexpectedly very quickly after, Ian following close behind.

Ian lay on top of Mickey, buried to the hilt, panting lightly into his chest for several minutes before finally coming to his senses and knowing they needed to separate. Mickey patiently waited for Ian to gain the strength to withdraw and roll over, simply running his fingers over Ian's smooth back; once Ian finally did roll over, Mickey allowed him to go, his fingers trailing his skin as Ian moved. Ian shifted to face Mickey... and suddenly felt guilty. Something was definitely wrong.

"Mick?" He whispered but Mickey didn't stir. Ian raised on his forearm and gently draped a leg over Mickey's. Thankfully, Mickey turned to look up at him without further coaxing. "The fuck's up with you, Mick?" He asked gently, restraining the urge to stroke his face or anything else that might make this moment especially too soft. Mickey shook his head a dismissive frown pulling down the corners of his mouth.

Without another word Mickey rolled over onto his side facing away from Ian... and simply went back to sleep. Ian watched his back anxiously, butterflies tying up his gut as the heartbreaking realization finally dawned on him that something was really,  _really_ wrong.

////

The baby's wailing regretfully woke Mickey up next.  _Why, oh why couldn't it be another hummer?_ He groaned internally as he aggravatedly tossed Ian's arm from over his hip, jarring Ian awake too. Apparently Mickey was in a spiteful mood today despite the vigorous tension releasing activity from last night. Taking the two steps to the dresser, he pulled out a clean pair of Ian's boxers and thrust his legs through, yanking them up around his hips. He picked at the fabric as he grumbled to Debbie's room, trying to adjust the underwear to fit comfortably over his ass but... Ian's fuckin' scrawny ass gear was not workin in this case. 

Despite his irritation, he gently entered Debbie's room and was glad the redhead wasn't in there. If that kid had woken him up with Teen Mom still here she would have never heard the end of it from him. The kid was standing in her crib, fingers wrapped tightly around the top of the gate, wailing away.

" _Fu_ _ck,_ kid! What could be so wrong that you're deafening the whole fuckin' house for, huh?" Mickey grumbled under his breath as he picked the kid up. She didn't smell like she needed a fresh diaper so Mickey figured Debbie didn't wake her up to feed her before she left...  _again_ and instead left it for  _him_ to do at the asscrack of dawn. He turned to find Ian in the doorway, matching his boxers with a tee-shirt.  _Yeah, and his shorts probably don't ride up,_ Mickey thought resentfully as he tried to smoothly exit the bedroom, even as the seam dug into ass something fierce.

"She a'right?" Ian asked groggily with a slight shake of panic--probably more Mickey's fault than the kid's from so rudely shaking Ian off him.

"Probably just hungry because your fuckin' sister won't deal with her fussy ass and feed her before she leaves." Mickey griped, gliding down the stairs as smoothly as possible for the slowly settling baby in his arm. He heard Ian padding behind him as he entered the kitchen, the milksucker finally settling down since she seemed to notice what was headed her way.

"Yeah, see? You're covered, you can relax, kid." Mickey grouched as he reached for a bottle and the can of formula.

"Here, I got it..." Ian insisted behind him. Mickey turned to face Ian his brows furrowed.

"I do it by myself every goddamned morning, I got it." A pang of regret hit Mickey in the chest at Ian's look... like a dog kicked by a trusted and beloved owner. As much as he wanted to take it back he also didn't want to concede just because he hurt the ginger's fuckin'  _feelings._ Instead he set to show Ian what he does everyday  _without_ his help thank you very much, and turned on the faucet, stuck the bottle under, and popped the fucker into the microwave for twelve seconds. Those twelve seconds were excruciatingly long as he felt Ian's stare  on his back. The baby started fussing in his arm just as he started measuring the formula into the bottle, almost sending the damn thing spilling across the counter. Sighing, he set the measuring scoop back into the can and readjusted the kid on his hip but she just straightened her legs and strained against him. Another pair of hands reached out to support her back as the stupid kid damn near wrestled herself right out of his grip. Ian stood close, supporting his niece and his boyfriend. Ian silently reached across Mickey, one hand still on Franny's back as Mickey readjusted his hold on her, and grabbed the bottle and measuring scoop to finish preparing it. Mickey stepped aside and allowed him to do it.

Ian turned to face them as he shook the bottle and tested it on his hand before passing it to Franny who eagerly started sucking as soon as the thing was in her hands. Ian leaned back against the counter and watched Mickey, who was looking anywhere  _but_ at him. The sucker kept guzzling the shit as though she hadn't been fed her whole life and the gulping noises filled their silence.

"The fuck is up with you?" Ian asked. Mickey rolled his eyes.

"That it's six in the goddamned morning and her fucking shrieking is what woke me up after  _someone_ already woke me up once last night." Mickey grouched. Ian rolled his eyes back.

" _Someone_ wasn't complaining last night so  _someone_ shouldn't be bitching at  _me_ if they're tired." They stared each other down and Mickey suddenly recalled so many face-offs just like this. It always happened when one of them had something to say but was too embarrassed or proud to admit it. "So... what the fuck is wrong? Did... Did I do something?" Ian sounded so desperate to know and Mickey felt so ridiculous... he just pushed himself away from the counter and brought the milk sucker upstairs to put her back in bed. She sat up easily on her own and though she reached for him as he started walking away she was too occupied with that bottle to  _actually_ give two shits about him walking away. He closed the door gently behind him and opened the door to the boys' room so Liam would wake up to the smell of breakfast cooking.

Ian hadn't moved a muscle by the time Mickey returned to the kitchen and remained still as Mickey started making coffee. The tension in the room was starting to feel so tangible it was almost as though someone was sticking him with the barbs of a cactus. Just as Mickey was ready to turn around to break the tension, Ian wrapped his arms around him from behind and tucked his face into Mickey's neck, breathing deeply. Mickey lay his hands over Ian's arms and stroked his thumbs over the soft hair. Ian breathed his name into his neck and they stood there for a moment, absorbing each other's warmth. Ian backed a step from Mickey so he could turn around and face Ian who looked like he was putting forth a herculean effort to not get all sappy and start pawing at him.

"I... I can't read your mind, Mick. You've gotta tell me what's bugging you because I  _know_ something's wrong but... but I can't fix it, whatever it is, without knowing  _what it is._ " Mickey knew he was being unfair, he just didn't feel the need to complain about something he should have full-well expected because... what the fuck was Ian going to do? Ian would have nothing  _to_ say except, _I'm sorry, man, this is just how it has to be for now._ Followed by a promise to get  _them_ out in time.

That was what bugged Mickey the most. In order for him to have his own life, to go somewhere he could step outside and taste some  _semblance_ of freedom, something he clearly had taken for granted down south, Ian was going to have to pay his way. And the idea of Ian  _saving_ him was just... it was too much.

"There's nothing to fix," Mickey grumbled finally. And it was the truth. There was nothing to fix because this was just the reality right now and if he wanted them to work he was going to have to get the fuck over it. Ian was about to argue when Phillip waltzed into the kitchen from the living room, buttoning up his shirt for the garage. He halted in his tracks so fast Mickey could almost hear the tear of a scratching record. Taking in how they were standing--Mickey leaning against the counter, arms folded spitefully over his chest and a scowl on his face, Ian leaning in, hands on Mickey's arms, face desperate--Lip looked a little too happy.

"Trouble in paradise already? And here I thought you've been doing such a good job around the house there, Mick!" Lip chuckled to himself.

"Shut up, Lip," Ian demanded lamely.

"Starting to see that being cooped up all day isn't what you thought it was gonna be?" Lip guessed. 

"Zip it, Gallagher." Mickey growled.

"Or you'll what?" Lip taunted walking around the other side of the counter. He grabbed a mug from the towel set down for letting the dishes dry from yesterday and leaned over the counter to snatch the coffee pot from the burner.

"Think I won't kick your ass just because we're livin together, _Phillip_?"

"I think if you wantto  _keep_ living here you'd better not." Lip replied with a little more authority than Mickey could handle. This guy was fuckin asking to get hit. Every day there was a new joke at Mickey's expense. He'd walked in on Mickey trying to rock Franny to sleep last week and laughed before shooting out something about how this was yet another thing he thought he'd never see. Mickey had simply glared at him. Lip then congratulated Mickey on accepting his new role so gracefully, "who'd ever think Mickey fuckin' Milkovich would make a half-decent homemaker?" He knew Lip only had the nads to say that because he had a baby in his arms but it bothered him it was said at all. Not because his  _feelings_ were hurt or any shit like that but just because there was simply no reason for it; and even more that he wanted to make sure Phillip never opened his mouth like that again, and couldn't.

Mickey laughed without humor at Lip's sissy attempt at a threat.

"Or you'll what? Go to the cops? Get your whole family tossed in prison?" Lip looked a little too cocky for comfort.

"Don't be ridiculous. But... you know we as a family do have a lot of practice of getting rid of... unwelcome houseguests..." Lip hinted, raising his coffee cup to his lips. Mickey could practically hear Ian's eyeroll behind him.

"Mickey  _is_ welcome here. He's been helpin' around here as though he's a part of the family even though you all treat him like shit--"

"We're  _harboring a fugitive,_ Ian! You  _really_ expect for me to welcome him into our house with open fucking _arms?"_

"Yeah! I do! He's gonna be here with us until I can get us the fuck outta here. And... you know I'd really like to keep my family in my life but... if  _this_ is how you're going to treat him after all he's done for us then, fuck it." Lip and Mickey both froze at the same time. Mickey because there was the reference to him being cared for again, having his way cleared out by Ian's generosity.

"You'd really throw your  _family_ away over someone who's dropped in and out of your life just as badly as  _Monica_?" That snapped Mickey's attention back.

"Fuck you!" Ian and Mickey cried together, but just as Mickey was gearing up to launch around the counter to get his hands on that fuckin' weasel face of Lip's, Liam came loping down the stairs wiping sleep from his eyes.

"Why's everyone being so loud?" Liam asked groggily, taking in his siblings and Mickey. Lip put his mug down and rushed over to Liam to comfort him which sent a rush of anger through Mickey. Yeah, okay. Lip was going to be a dick to  _them_ but would act like a perfect fuckin' angel for the kid. Sure. And the kid probably bought all of it, too.

"Want some breakfast?" Lip asked slightly louder than his previous words--a not so subtle hint to Mickey that his job was up. Liam nodded and Mickey gave him a choice of frozen french toast or sausage and eggs. Upon request, Mickey fixed the kid his breakfast and pulled the brown paper bag lunch he'd made the day before out of the fridge. Ian had ran back up the stairs, glaring at Lip as he crossed him, leaving Mickey and Lip alone with Liam. Luckily, the youngest Gallagher's presence seemed to censor Lip so, as frustrated as Mickey was, he was at no longer at risk of punching his lights out. 

Liam brought his used plate to Mickey as he did every morning with a bright smile and thank you before grabbing his lunch off the counter and running for the front door where he would then grab his backpack and wait for a sibling to escort him to school. Lip, being the only available Gallagher to do the job, joined Liam at the door. Fake ease melted off him as he struggled to hide a snide smile and suddenly Mickey wanted to punch him in the face on principle. Instead, he rinsed off the plate, placed it on the folded towel (as is his civic duty) and took the stairs two at a time.

He found Ian toweling off his hair in their bedroom, otherwise naked. He slid the door shut even though no one else was home.

"Fuck your sister worrying I might do something stupid like getting recognized to get my ass tossed back in, your brother is about to get me caught for assault." Ian stood up straight and ran his towel over his chest and arms, face reflecting regret.

"He's just worried," Ian reasoned lamely.

"So he gets to talk to me like I'm fuckin' Mrs. Brady and I ain't gonna do shit?"

"He's just being an ass, Mick, he's not hurting you," Ian replied, exasperated. Mickey's brows shot up.

"Did I fuckin' say he was hurting me? I  _said_ he's pissing me off and he's about to fuckin' get it if he doesn't lay the fuck off."

"And how does that help  _you,_ Mick? That's just going to be make it that much harder around here. He'll get it out of his system and he'll leave you alone." If it was possible for his brows to reach higher on his face they would have shot up double, as it was Mickey was lost for words as anger pumped through his body.

"Are you... Are you  _actually_ taking his fuckin' side right now?" Ian rolled his eyes as he pulled on a pair of boxer briefs and a tank. Boxer briefs that fit his skinny ass perfectly, Mickey thought resentfully.

"I'm always on your side, Mickey--"

"Got a funny fuckin way of showing it!" Ian paused as he seemed to take in just how upset this conversation was making him.

"I... I yell at him literally any time he gives you a hard time in front of me; he's just going to keep doing it until it isn't fun for him anymore or you integrate back into the family. It's just going to take time--"

"It's always fuckin'  _time_ with you," Mickey grumbled bitterly. Ian paused again.

"You... what do you want me to do, Mickey? Give you permission to fight him?"

"I don't need  _permission!_ "

"Then what exactly are you looking for from me right now? You've been getting pissier and pissier every fucking day and I have no idea what I've done or what I can do and I just..." Ian looked to the ceiling like he was looking for a sign from God. "I can't help or fix whatever it is if you don't fucking  _tell_ me!" Mickey's heart crashed to an abrupt halt as guilt slammed into him.

"There's nothing to fix," Mickey mumbled awkwardly.

"Bull. Shit!"

"There's nothing to fix because there's no way to change anything so what's the point in even trying to figure it out? I'll fuckin deal."

"So... you're going to start dealing now or..?" Mickey's brow furrowed in confusion, also like a dare to Ian to finish that sentence... which he did. "Like.. just so I know when this tantrum thing you're doing is over and I can have my boyfriend back." Mickey glared at him for a long moment and he felt his cheeks pink as the anger raised.

"Fuck you," Mickey spit before leaving the room to shower before Ian left and he was left alone with the ankle biter.

/////

 Ian remained still in his bedroom for a long time staring at nothing and wondering where the fuck they went wrong so fucking fast. Yeah, they'd fought when they lived together before but... Something about this was different.

The realization that he was naive in thinking they could bounce back to normal was a hard one. Everything about them had always made sense, even when the world was stacking the cards against them. And he still believed in them, this was just a hiccup Ian hadn't been expecting--or at least not so soon. 

He heard the shower cut on and finished pulling on his uniform, taking special care with straightening his badges and arranging the pleat of his pants... a nervous tic. He had a feeling that Mickey had a reason to be angry, that whatever he did warranted this reaction he just... couldn't for the life of him figure out what the fuck was his specific problem.

Mickey swept open the door and started drying off in a hurry, probably preparing for Franny's impeccable timing to catch him, literally, with his pants down. Mickey huffed in irritation as he yanked on another pair of Ian's underwear. He adjusted them and adjusted them again. Ian just watched awkwardly as Mickey struggled with himself and finally just rifled through Ian's bedside table drawer, pulling out the sock which held Mickey's cash from the babysitting gig. He pulled out a crisply folded twenty and turned to face Ian, a scowl deeply set into his mouth in a way that was so unlike Mickey it nearly crushed Ian's heart. Mickey was a grump and always had been, that was part of his charm... But this was not just grump. This was legitimate and deeply set irritation bordering on anger. Mickey stuffed the bill into Ian's hand and huffed out, "Boxers. My size. I don't care how many you get, just get how ever much that covers." He was about to turn away without so much as looking Ian in the eye and Ian was finally tired of this. He grabbed Mickey's arm with his other hand, gently pulling him closer just as Mickey tried backing away.

"Mick... You've gotta talk to me. I get that things are awkward right now and... Maybe more than what you were expecting but... There's not much I can really do right now, especially if you don't fuckin _talk_ to me, man." Mickey looked at Ian resentfully. Ian gazed back imploringly, begging Mickey to open up.

"Boxers. Please." Mickey finally replied shortly. Ian kept their eye contact going for another moment but eventually broke the connection and nodded. 

"I'll pick them up tonight. It'll make me a little later than I thought, but--"

"Why would it make you later than you  _though_ _t_?"

"I was going to meet Trevor for a drink tonight, I told you last night." Ian replied simply as he grabbed a shirt for Mickey out of the drawer behind him. He offered it to him but Mickey didn't move.

" _No_ you fucking didn't. I don't exactly have enough going for me right now to forget something like that and you  _definitely_ did not tell me that." Mickey argued. Ian retreated to his memory to go over the night and he was so,  _so_ certain he'd said something. That Mickey had shrugged as if saying 'do whatever the fuck you want.' Maybe this was from the last time he told him? "You just had drinks with him the other fuckin night." Mickey argued defensively. Mickey's sudden irritation at Trevor also shocked Ian. Any time he mentioned hanging out with Trevor Mickey seemed fine with it. Why all the sudden hostility?

"I mean... If you really don't want me to then--"

"No.... No, go. Leave me here to myself as fuckin always. You know, I'll just make plans with my brothers, oh  _FUCKING wait._ " Ian's eyes damn near popped out of his head.

"Mick--"

"No, go. Just fuckin go, Ian." As if on cue, Franny started whining giving Mickey the perfect out. He tugged on the offered tee-shirt and the pair of jeans he'd brought with him and left Ian alone... again.

Ian grabbed his wallet with a huff and left. If Mickey was going to be like that, fuck him.

 ////

Over the past two weeks things hadn't improved like Mickey'd hoped. There was a routine, sure. Mickey now knew how to play it here. But it was bullshit. Everyone treated him like hired help or like he should be grateful for the opportunity to clean their bathrooms and do their laundry. Like he should be grateful to be cooped up in this house all goddamned day. And yeah... yeah he'd signed up for this. He'd known life was going to be like this... he just hadn't expected for it to make him feel like... like such a fuckin' pussy. He's practically raising a kid that ain't even  _his_ for crissake! And being paid practically nothing. And once again, he'd signed up for it... But he really didn't expect this deep level of resentment to sink in... especially not so soon. It was truly how the Gallaghers looked at him that bothered him. And even Ian looked at him like an adoring husband, so endeared at what a good job his little  _wife_ was managing while he was gone at work all day, stuck with the baby.

He actually didn't even mind being with Franny. The kid was cute and was generally easy. She just walked around picking up random stuff, sometimes walking it back to him to gift something to him, and then went to find some other random piece of crap to carry around for ten minutes. And if he didn't want to deal with following her around to make sure she didn't start playing with any loose wires or some shit he'd just stick her in Liam's old play pen and she'd keep herself occupied with a set of plastic keys or her stuffed elephant. She was even easier than Yevgeny had been, honestly, and the kid had been so small all he did was sit in a high chair all day last time he saw him.

When he told Ian about the babysitting gig Ian told him he thought that was a great idea and promised he'd love her. Mickey'd just shrugged and said it was a way to get some money. Ian's brows furrowed at the mention of Mickey needing money.

"Why is she paying you? You don't need money, if you need something all you've gotta do is ask me, I'll get it." Ian flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette and passed it to Mickey who gave him a look that hopefully conveyed how stupid he thought Ian was for asking such a ridiculous question.

"I don't need you fuckin paying my way through shit. Fiona made it clear, I want smokes or booze I gotta buy it myself and you don't need to pay for that shit. Besides, I'm not relying on you like some fuckin 50s housewife and I sure as  _shit_ ain't watchin a kid that ain't mine for free." Ian raised his hands in surrender as Mickey took a drag.

"Sorry, I just... I didn't think you needed your own money but... that's fine." Mickey tried to pass back the cigarette but Ian refused to take it, making a quip about how Mickey clearly needed it more than he did. Mickey'd rolled his eyes but finished the cigarette anyway.

From there Ian brought up Yevgeny for some fucked up reason... tried to get Mickey to admit he wanted to see his son but the truth was... he didn't. The kid hadn't seen him in three fuckin years and surely Svetlana had a new father (or second mother) figure in his life. Adding himself to the mix would just complicate things, plus Svetlana would  _love_ the opportunity to hold something else over Mickey's head and he just couldn't deal with that right now when he already had to restrain himself from murdering a certain brunette Gallagher boy in his sleep.

His fourth day in the Gallagher house, Ian had rushed home, and peppered Mickey with enough adoration and relief that Mickey got his fill of affection for the evening in that one exchange. From there, they were chill... They stood by each other's side and typically found some way to maintain physical contact, but they weren't sucking face and getting sappy in the kitchen, either. 

Enter the eldest Gallagher boy and you would swear they were fucking right there on the dining room table on top of the meal Mickey prepared. Phillip wrinkled his nose at the image--Ian leaning against the dining room table, smiling down at Mickey who was casually, gently holding his hand with a matching upward tilt to his mouth--and asked, "So uh... how long before I can keep my lunch down around the two o' you? If you're gonna make goo-goo eyes at each other the rest of your lives I don't know how much longer I can tolerate this." Mickey rolled his eyes.

"You're tolerating anything?" Mickey replied sardonically. Ian barked out a laugh. Lip shrugged.

"To the best of my ability..." He replied coolly, moving to the fridge to pull out a can of Coke.

"No wonder you got kicked out of college if  _that's_ your best effort," Mickey shot back. It may seem like Mickey's the one that started this whole war but Lip had already made enough  _fairy_ jokes at him to warrant some offensive moves rather than always being on defense. Lip rolled his eyes.

"Thought you of all people'd be glad I ditched that  _ivy_ tower, was it Mickey?" Mickey rolled his eyes, accepting the dis. Ian looked between the guys but didn't speak up, officially out of the know enough to contribute to the conversation.

"What do you want, Lip?" Ian sighed to break up the tense quiet.

"Nothin," Lip grumbled and shrugged, trying entirely too hard to appear casual. "Just wonderin when I'll be able to enter public spaces again without walking in on a Lifetime special." Mickey rolled his eyes, stood up from his chair, wrapped a hand around the back of Ian's neck, and dragged him into a hot and passionate kiss, all for Phillip's benefit. He could practically hear Lip sneer just before he climbed the stairs two at a time. When he broke the kiss Ian smiled at him like he'd never been prouder.

Deep down, though, despite Lip doing everything in his power to make Mickey feel unwelcome, Mickey really didn't mind being here. Yeah, it fuckin sucked being locked up in the house all day but what really bugged him, what  _really_ got to him was how quickly the novelty of his being here had worn off for Ian. Yeah, Ian was still tickled pink and he could see it on the redhead's face every time he walked through that door with a goofy and relieved smile. He was blissed the fuck out to have Mickey back to talk to about his day and joke around with again. But then Ian would start referencing how he was taking care of Mickey, how Mickey was doing such a great job adjusting to this new life, how he couldn't wait to move them somewhere new and... And even though Mickey would go the whole day without feeling trapped, Ian saying bullshit like that always brought to his attention that that was exactly what he was... trapped, confined, in captivity like a fuckin tiger in an in-ground pen at a zoo. But if it weren't bad enough that Mickey felt like he was being left farther and farther behind... if it wasn't bad enough that Ian who used to race to get home as soon as his shift was over so he could soak up all the spare time he had with Mickey, now that Ian was certain Mickey wasn't going anywhere, now that he was secure that Mickey was committed to seeing this through, Ian suddenly didn't think there was anything wrong with going out to see his  _ex_ of all people! 

 _That_ bullshit started late last week. He'd only been here six days and Ian was already so used to Mickey being here that he was ready to leave him to hang out with his other friends. And... not just other friends but his fucking  _ex!_ It blew Mickey's mind,  _truly_ blew his fucking mind that Ian didn't see anything wrong with this. But he didn't want to be that controlling asshole boyfriend who wouldn't let his partner go see anyone without him, and since he couldn't go out with him himself he figured it was only fair that Ian get to go out sometimes but like... Couldn't it be once a week? And with fucking  _anyone_ but his ex?

Mickey wiped at the frustrated tears brewing in the corner of his eye and picked up the kid before she wandered behind the TV. She squealed and he tossed her into the air a couple of times before lightly swinging her into the playpen where she'd stay most of the day as he did whatever chores Fiona asked of him this time. He checked on her every fifteen minutes or so and played with her for a few minutes at a time before returning to his task. And... and that was Mickey's day.

All day before Debbie came home to nap and until Fiona came home with Liam.

That was his day.

Every.

Goddamned.

Day.

/////

"He's just... He's being so fucking pissy and he won't tell me what's bugging him!" Ian whispered furiously to Sue as they wiped down the bed of their bus. He told Sue about Mickey's return because, well, she's pretty much guessed it on her own. That woman was no joke when it came to reading Ian Gallagher. She swore she would never say anything because he'd assured her that he wasn't a danger to society, that the charges were bullshit and the only reason he didn't insist on Mickey serving out his time was because at this point he'd serve  _more_ time on those fucked up charges and...  _fuck_ that. They'd already gotten more time out of him than they deserved and to Ian it wasn't worth the risk of Mickey spending the rest of his life in prison if they couldn't figure out how to get those fucked up attempted murder charges dropped. So anyway Sue knew that Mickey was at the Gallagher house and Ian trusted her. It had been a huge risk to tell her but.. she hadn't squealed about him helping a fugitive cross the Mexican border so why would she change her tune now?

"Sounds like it's something easy enough you could figure it out on your own."

"No, if it were really that simple he should fuckin tell me what it is instead of playing games."

"Maybe he doesn't think he's playing games. Maybe he thinks you are aware of what's pissing  him off and you just don't care." Sue shrugged at Ian's horrified look. "Just a suggestion."

"Why... why would he think I don't care? I've been begging him to tell me what I've done for days now."

"Well... if it's something that could be right under your nose then maybe he figures spelling it out for you wouldn't help." Ian had to pause at that.

"But this is our last go. He can't jeopardize it by not fucking talking to me."

" _He's_  jeopardizing a lot more than your love life by coming back for you, Gallagher. Never forget that. I think he's a dumbass for coming back, personally. He was free, the search was called off, and now he's trapped at home with your siblings treating him like a servant. No wonder he's ready to go." 

"Wait. You don't think he's actually going to leave me do you?" 

Sue shrugged.

_Fuck..._

 

...

Ian cancelled his plans with Trevor. He went to Walmart and picked up what Mickey wanted, even chipped in to get a second pack since for some fucking reason it cost damn near $20 bucks for  _one_ pack of boxers. Ian rolled his eyes as he checked out, knowing Mickey was probably going to throw a hissy fit about him buying him the second pack, but he could get the fuck over it. This was one thing he could do to make Mickey more comfortable and everything Sue said had Ian wigging the fuck out of his mind worrying that Mickey had one foot solidly out the door.

When he rolled back into the Gallagher home, though, Ian wondered if it was already too late to make Mickey more comfortable. 

"The fuck did you just call me, Gallagher?" Mickey roared. Ian'd just stepped through the door when he took quick inventory of the surroundings. Mickey was standing behind the stove, something sizzling on the burner, Fiona standing beside him holding a knife she'd just cleaned. Lip stood by the stairs, a cocky grin on his face. Liam sat at the table looking frightened and Debbie hurried out of the room with Franny crying in her arms.

"The fuck is going on here?" Ian demanded, glaring at Lip before flashing a worried look at Mickey.

"I warned you, Ian, I fucking told you that if he didn't shut the fuck up I was gonna lose it. I'm about ready to kill him."

"You couldn't kill me if you wanted to, Milkovich," Lip laughed confidently. A little too confident, Ian feared.

"Lip..." Fiona warned lowly, quietly.

"Everyone here knows that you're just a pussy hiding behind a scary family name. You've never done anything but be a community nuisance and break a couple ribs for your Daddy. Killing, though...?" Lip shrugged.

"Could always break your nose again and you know how easy it is to shove that bone back--"

"Enough, Mick. No one is killing anybody." Ian shouted over the mayhem, tossing the Walmart bag on the table and unzipping his jacket.

"Thought you were hanging out with your  _boyfriend_ ," Mickey spit, moving the pan off the burner and shutting off the stove.

"Lip, won't you just  _leave Mickey alone_ already? Jesus he isn't hurting you by doing your laundry and making your dinner so why the fuck are you taunting him every chance you get? It's pathetic." Ian said to Lip choosing to ignore Mickey's snark.

"I can't just forget all of the years we've gone head to head like that, Ian. I thought he was finally out of our lives and then _you_ had to go and invite him back in again pretending he didn't do anything to any of us at one time or another, and I'm not-"

"Jesus fucking Christ, yes. We all know you have fucking history and we all know he's a fucking fugitive; scream it just a little louder so the fucking goody-two-shoes neighbors can report us and we all go to fucking prison, huh?" Lip actually did shut his mouth at that. "Can't you just... not say anything, Lip? Just fuckin pretend that he's not here?"

"In  _my own house_?" Lip gaped, laughing darkly. Ian pinched his nose in frustration. "No. I'm not walking on eggshells around fuckin Tinker Bell here for another--"

"Did you  _really_ just call me that _again_ _?"_ Mickey raged. "That's it, that's  _fucking it._ Outside. Now." Lip's eyes went wide.

"Wait, what?" Lip and Fiona said at about the same time.

"Right now. I'm kicking your fucking ass." Mickey charged past Lip and Ian tried to stop him but Mickey tossed Ian aside. _Jesus_... Ian hadn't seen Mickey this wound up in... God he didn't even know. Liam cowered in his chair, tears cascading down his cheeks. Ian expected Lip to stay put but... God some things really never changed. Lip puffed out his chest and followed Mickey outside into the back yard. They found a soft spot away from the van and stared at each other from across the yard.

"Lip, Mickey, come on, this is stupid!" Fiona cried as she practically slid down the stairs. Ian rolled his eyes, screaming to himself  _why bother with secrecy if you're just going to broadcast his fucking name to the whole goddamned neighborhood?_ but followed her down the stairs, crossing to Mickey's side of the yard.

"Mick... you don't have to do this. You can work this out some other wa--"

"I've been  _asking_ you to help me do that for two  _weeks_ now, Ian! But no you said he'd let it go, you said it would just take time. Well you know what, in case you can't remember,  _this_ is how we deal with disrespect in South Side."

"When we were fucking  _kids!_ We're grown-ups, we don't need to do this."

"Tell that to your fuckin brother because clearly he didn't get the fucking memo. According to him we're still seventeen and we're still in some bullshit feud." Ian exhaled harshly.

"Even if you do kick his ass he's not going to stop, you know that." Ian reasoned. Mickey glared at him, the 'I really don't give two flying fucks' written in his eyes so clearly he may as well have said it.

"We doin this or not, Milko--"

"Shut  _up_ Lip!" Ian shouted before he could finish Mickey's last name. He swore sometimes Lip was dumber than Carl before he got his shit together. He turned back to Mickey, ran his fingers through Mickey's hair as softly as he could but the gesture still felt panicked. "Do what you have to do just... just know that it's not going to change anything. It really won't." Mickey sighed next but said nothing. Ian backed away and stood next to a frantic Fiona.

"You tried to stop him?" She asked desperately.

"They're... they're gonna do this at some point, may as well be now. They may even do it again." Ian replied simply, emotionlessly. Fiona groaned.

"These idiots are going to get us busted." She griped. Ian gave her a look to indicate he agreed with her.

"Loser either taps out or loses consciousness." Mickey announced. " And if I win, you better keep your fuckin mouth shut around me. I mean it. Or I'm busting your lip open every day till you do." Mickey called across the yard. Lip nodded.

"If I win, you move out and you never come back." Lip replied easily. Ian's heart dropped. This was so fucking stupid and yet both Ian and Mickey were dead serious. Mickey nodded, confidence in his future win evident on his face.

Ian stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the wall of the porch siding but Fiona was still standing relatively close to were the guys were facing off.

"Fiona..." Ian warned quietly. She turned to face him and he tilted his head to his right side as he pulled out his cigarettes and lighter, lighting one in a fluid motion. Fiona sighed and moved to side.

"This is so stupid." She groaned. Ian nodded as Lip charged Mickey, swinging first. Mickey ducked and delivered a hefty punch to Lip's stomach. Ian winced and Fiona yelped. Lip gasped a little and clutched his stomach but Mickey grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.

"Mick--you'll dislocate his fucking arm!" Ian cried. Mickey didn't even look up as he kept twisting. Lip's face was screwed up as he fought Mickey with all his might and finally kicked behind him wildly, catching Mickey's shin just enough to have Mickey release his arm and dart back a few steps. He crouched ever so slightly to take the sting out of his shin while Lip turned around and massaged his shoulder. Mickey wore the perfect poker face. He didn't look angry, didn't look excited, didn't even look phased by what they were doing. It made Ian wonder how many details of Mickey's experience both in Mexico but also with Terry Mickey had neglected to tell him. Ian knew first hand that Mickey knew how to fight but... this was something from Mickey that he'd never seen before.

Ian already knew how this fight was going to end but that first move in the fight pretty much sealed the deal and by Lip's face, he fucking knew it as well as they all did. Mickey had already won. Mickey didn't charge him, just waited for Lip to decide his next move. Lip stepped forward and paused until Mickey mirrored the step. Lip stepped forward again and Mickey followed suit. They slowly walked toward each other, weighing each other until Lip struck out with a kick. He landed a solid blow to Mickey's hip that knocked him pretty well off balance but as Lip reached out to grab at Mickey, the blonde caught Lip's injured arm and swung him around, sending him to his knees. He kept his body close, wrapping his arm around Lip's neck and snaking the other around the back for a solid chokehold. He held one leg out to stabilize his form and started pulling his arms up, choking Lip.

"M--" Fiona started to call but Ian covered her mouth.

"Stop shouting his name, goddammit!" Ian hissed. She glared at him over his hand and was about to bite him before Ian released her mouth.

"He's about to choke out our brother!" Fiona snapped.

"Yeah, well maybe it's about fucking time." Ian snarked back. Fiona gaped at him but Ian didn't back down. Out of the corner of his eye, Lip collapsed to the ground, wheezing. Fiona ran over to where Mickey towered over Lip's crumpled form. 

"What--"

"Relax, he tapped out." Mickey muttered to her resentfully before trudging off to the van. Ian followed and watched Fiona coddle their brother.

Ian lit another cigarette and passed it to Mickey who sucked on it immediately.

"Feel better?" Ian asked coldly. Mickey shrugged, blew the smoke through his nose, and leaned back against the door. Ian glared at Mickey." It fucking better have. You damn near dislocated his fucking  _shoulder,_  and for fucking  _what?_ Because he called you some fucking  _names_?!" Anger surged hot through Ian's veins. "I am  _always_ on your side, man, but even I know that it's not worth all that."

"That  _what's_ not worth that?" Mickey stood up straight again and turned to face Ian, blocking his view of Fiona picking Lip up off the ground. "If he didn't want his shoulder dislocated he should have fuckin shut his trap like I goddamned asked him, then  _told_ him to!" Mickey hissed. "The way I see it, he got off easy because I didn't even break the skin. I  _could_ have punched him in the face when he charged me at the beginning but I went for a clean end."

" _Oh_ you are  _so_ merciful." Ian laughed sarcastically. Mickey narrowed his eyes at him.

"You'd rather I  _did_ break his nose again? Knock out some teeth?" Ian sighed and averted his eyes. "There you go. You're welcome. I made my point and Phillip gets to keep his bones and teeth in place."

"You really think this is going to settle some score he's got against you? If anything you just made everything a shit ton worse!" Ian seethed. Mickey shrugged and took another inhale of smoke.

"Well, he's gonna think twice about fucking with me on a daily basis, won't he? I'm not taking it anymore, Ian. I'm done." Ian's heart fell again.

"Done?" Ian gasped. Mickey rolled his eyes and blew out another cloud.

"Not like that, _fuck, relax!_ I didn't come all the way here to throw in the towel over some shit like this."

"So you're telling me that Lip is the  _only_ thing you've had an issue with this entire time?" Ian shot back with disbelief. Mickey's mouth shut forcefully. "Yeah. I'm not fucking stupid, I know there's something bothering you but you  _won't fucking tell me_!"

"There's nothin to tell," Mickey replied simply, sticking the cigarette in his mouth and turning to head back to the house. This was the first time Mickey had been outside the whole time he's been here so far so Ian was a little surprised that he was ready to go back inside already.

"Bullshit!" Ian called after him. Mickey didn't stop as he crossed the yard to the foot of the stairs. Ian chased after him whirled Mickey around.

"The fuck--"

" _I_ can't keep doing this passive-aggressive bullshit! Are you not telling me because you think I should already know what's wrong or are you just expecting things to magically get better? I can't--I don't operate that way!" Ian shouted.

"What fuckin passive-aggressive bullshit? There's nothing to tell because there's nothing that can be done so I'm just going to have to get the fuck over it, okay? Lip was the one thing I could handle on my own and I did and will again if he keeps it up. Just..." Mickey started to reach out to Ian but Ian was so... just  _so_ angry!

"Maybe you shouldn't have come back, then! There's nothing more I can give you right now, Mickey! I'm giving you everything I fucking  _can_ right now! I hate that you feel like this but... But I don't really see an alternative, do you?" Mickey had frozen at the first remark. He looked sick as he took in Ian's face and finally after a long moment he stamped out the cigarette and gathered his emotions to look at Ian with stoic calm.

"Maybe I _shouldn't_ have come," Mickey mumbled. He seemed to chew over his words for a few weighted moments before announcing more decidedly, "this was a huge mistake, I shouldn't have come back." Ian felt all of the air vacuum out of his lungs... _N_ _o_....Jesus this was a mistake, no, no! This was their last go dammit, why would he say something so fucking  _stupid?!_

"Mick, no... No, I--I didn't mean it--"

"Course you did, or you wouldn'ta said it. And... you're not wrong. I shoulda known what it was gonna be like coming back like this and I shoulda known your life was gonna keep going outside this house even though mine wouldn't. I may not have been  _free_ in Mexico but at least I had more than a five hundred square foot box. And I... I have no idea what you're  _actually_ doing when you're out. How the fuck  _could_ I know?"

"What, you don't trust me?"

"I don't have any room _but to_ trust you! I don't know who you're with, I don't know if you're actually going where you're saying you're going, and I would never know the difference if you weren't. I don't know what I'd do if you just..." Mickey shrugged demonstratively, frown tearing at the corners of his mouth,"found someone else." Ian softened and started to argue but Mickey didn't give him the chance, "No, that  _could_ happen! That shit could happen at any time whether I can leave the house or not but with how shit is I would never know! And where would that leave me?!" Ian gagged... Actually gagged.

"No... No you... you can't leave. Not right now and especially not on some fucking hypothetical. You said this was the last time. What the hell am I going to do without you for the rest of my life? Just... just keep floating through guys hoping someone someday might measure up? I..."

" _I can't be cooped up in that house and have my only purpose be servin Gallaghers!_ " Mickey roared. "Nobody in that house gives a  _fuck_ about me but you and you know what? Being by  _myself_ for  _month_ I never felt  _half_ so alone as I do now. You... you still get to go out with your friends, you work, you have a whole life outside of me that I don't get to be a part of. That I  _can't_ be a part of and there's nothing either of us can do about that." Ian looked around like he was searching for some divine intervention, some idea of what to do or say to get what he was thinking _out_ there. To get Mickey to understand. "Look... I ain't leaving now, a'right? You asked me what my problem is and that's it. For the first week I knew things were gonna be tense but... Ian I can't be a fuckin' tool for everyone use and throw away when they're done with me, then go pretendin' I ain't even here until they need me again. I can't rely on just you to talk to, I can't expect your world to revolve around me. Any time I've been in an uncomfortable place there was  _always_ somewhere to go so that I was never really alone. Here, I've got you Gallaghers and a kid that's not even mine. And for you, you can go out and do whatever you want and I just have to believe you. You have no idea what that's askin of me when I don't have a choice." Ian stood in complete shock for a long, long time. What exactly was there to say to that?

"I spend my days off with you--"

"Yeah, great. Two days a week and so far I've had the fuckin rugrat the whole time!"

"You accepted that responsibility, not me."

" _Because I don't have a choice, asshole!"_

"You can just let me take care of you, you've done it for me plenty of times... Paid for my meds and the fees from when I was manic... Let me take care of you now." Ian implored, practically begged. Mickey looked like he wanted to argue...

"For you it was because you were too sick to pay for it yourself. I ain't a fuckin' housewife. You don't give me an allowance for groceries every week, I don't want to ask you to pick up shit that I need every time I need it but I do--and that's bad enough. Now I gotta ask your permission to want or need things?"

"What? No! Just ask, it's yours!"

" _I don't want to have to ask you, Ian, are you fucking listening to me?!"_ Ian frowned.

"But you knew how this was going to be. Why would you even come back if you didn't want to have to do that? Why tell me that this was the last go if this was going to set you up to just leave me again?" Ian could feel tears brewing, damn him. This... Was this payback? Payback for getting Mickey's hopes up last  year? If it was, it was a cruel fucking joke. Mickey opened his mouth and closed it several times and finally just looked at his shoes. Ian dried the little moisture that gathered in his eyes and exhaled slowly, gathering himself. "Can you  _please_ let me take care of you for now? Just for now. Don't ask, fucking tell me what you need if that will make it easier. Tell me when you need a pack of smokes or a new pair of jeans. Pay for it when you want and let me treat you when you want. Just..." He swallowed the lump in his throat and watched Mickey bite his lip, attention still fixed on the ground. "Just let me take care of you for a little while until you feel comfortable getting out and about. You contribute however much you can contribute and when it's finally time to leave this dump you can even pay me back if you want. I want our goal to be for us to  _both_ be free, Mick, but right now that's not going to fucking happen. I know you hate the word  _time_ but... it's all we've got right now. Just... be patient with me, baby, please. I understand, I--"

Mickey reached forward and grabbed the back of neck to drag him in for a rough kiss. Against his nose he felt the warm wetness of tears. Why Mickey was crying Ian didn't specifically know but he hated that this was happening right now and that they had to have this discussion. Normally he would have let the tears dry on Mickey's cheeks but there was so much wetness he knew Mickey would hate for him to look up and see them, so he gently wiped them away and cupped his face. Mickey broke the kiss and swallowed hard, looking at the ground again as he tried to sniff and pretend that it wasn't the crying. Eventually, Mickey nodded and Ian knew that Mickey just promised to try letting Ian take care of him. He hugged Mickey to him desperately, so thankful that Mickey heard him and was going to let him do this. He would try to be discrete and not make it so 'housewifey' for him.

"I love you, Mick." Ian whispered in Mickey's ear. Mickey relaxed against Ian's shoulder for a long moment before an I love you sounded in return, vibrating against Ian's jacket. 

Mickey straightened and subtly dried his own eyes as he exhaled in a huff.

"Think Lip's gone up to his room to sulk by now..." Ian hinted. Mickey nodded. "Dinner smelled really good." Mickey rolled his eyes.

"It's a shitty attempt at scampi," Mickey finally grumbled. Ian hummed and his stomach conveniently released a giant garble. They both, mercifully, laughed and Mickey led the way back into the house.

In the light of the kitchen, Mickey's eyes barely looked pink. It was obvious to Ian that Mickey had been crying but no one else would see it enough to comment on it... not that they probably would anyway.

Lip's absence made dinner that night actually enjoyable. Fiona cracked a couple of jokes at Mickey who chanced playing along and was rewarded with Fiona genuinely laughing. Debbie then revealed that Franny's first word was probably going to be fuck because she seemed to be working hard on her F sounds which Ian and Mickey exchanged a proud look at. Debbie frowned and scolded Mickey.

"I can't have a 2 year old screaming 'fuck,' Mickey!"

"Why the fuck not, that'd be funny as hell!" Mickey cried back. Debbie pouted.

"I can just hear the calls from Kindergarten teachers now..."

"Nah, you just gotta teach her to censor."

" _You_ don't have one!" Debbie shot back. Mickey looked at her like she was crazy.

"That's why I said  _you_ gotta teach her..." Fiona barked out a laugh at that and gathered a few plates to take to the sink. Instead of just leaving them in there like normal, she scraped the remaining bits into the trash and... started running the water...

Mickey tried to pretend that he wasn't as shocked as Ian, but Ian, of course, read Mickey like a book and could see that shit as clear as crystal. 

"Here, Fiona, I got that," Ian called, gathering the rest of the plates.

"You sure?" Fiona asked as she lathered up the sponge. Ian started scraping the plates he gathered and nodded. She shrugged and lay the soaped sponge on the lip of the sink.

"I'm going to bed, 'night guys." Fiona called as she climbed the stairs. Mickey stayed where he was but waved at her. Debbie wished Mickey a good night and left him and Ian alone.

They were silent for a long moment as Ian washed the dishes by himself.

"I got your stuff for you..." Ian said gently to interrupt the silence.

"Yeah?" Mickey grunted back. Ian gestured to the Walmart bag that was moved to the corner of the bar. Mickey got up and pulled out the two packs of boxers. He looked like he was immediately going to argue when he stopped himself.

"Uh... thanks, man." Mickey finally replied awkwardly, trying not to meet Ian's gaze.

"No problem."

There was more silence as Mickey started playing with the flap of the seal on the package. Ian finished the dishes and dried off his hands. Leaning against the sink, he took Mickey in.

"You okay?" Ian finally asked when Mickey still refused to look up at him. Mickey did meet his gaze and he looked torn.

"No but... I guess we'll work on it." Mickey said honestly. Ian's heart broke a little but he simply nodded. It was honest and it was helpful.

"We'll work on it." Ian promised.

**Author's Note:**

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> We accept Kudos and constructive comments! <3


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